Everlasting
by Nili
Summary: When a short hunting trip near Rivendell takes a turn for the worst, Legolas and Aragorn are separated from their companions. While the two must make it back on their own, Elrond tries to save the life of a friend – who might not even want to be saved.
1. Revenge Is Sweet

**A/N:**

  
**Alright, first things first: HAPPY BIRTHDAY, MARBIENL!!! huggles Marbienl**

**I won't start singing because I really don't think that any of you would enjoy that experience - besides, my screen might actually explode. There's no need to scare the poor birthday girl or my computer to death, after all. g  
  
So, for those who hadn't guessed it already: This is Marbienl's little birthday-trolls-story. It's rather short, especially if you compare it to my last story - only five chapter, just like the last short story. I'm sensing a pattern here. g I have decided to list Aragorn and Legolas as the main characters, but there are several other elves who will be making an appearance, for example the twins, Erestor or Elvynd who got to speak about two sentences in "An Eye For An Eye". Glorfindel and Elrond, however, are just as important as the reckless human and the stubborn elf this time, and will get quite a lot of attention. (Glorfindel/Elrond: Oh, isn't that nice? sarcasm)  
  
This story was inspired by a few rather innocent remarks about Aragorn's and Legolas' encounter with some hill-trolls, and Marbienl nagged me until I agreed to write a little background story. She also fed me the Glorfindel-plot bunny, so it's safe to say that all this is at least partly her fault. I decided to combine the two plots, both to save time and to get them out of my head. g  
  
Oh, one last thing: Please note that I assume that Gondolin was destroyed on Midyear's Day. I haven't found any precise date for the "Gates of Summer" - the date which is given in the Silmarillion (Chapter 23, Of Tuor and the Fall of Gondolin) - but I think that it would either be Midyear's Day or Midsummer's Day (which is celebrated either on the same day or on the 24th of June). Considering that the festival was called GATES of Summer, I think Summer Solstice is more likely, and therefore this story takes place on June 21st and June 22nd. If you have any proof that I am wrong, please don't hesiste to let me know. g  
  
So, once again: Happy Birthday, Marbienl! I hope you'll enjoy it, even though there's quite a lot of angst in here later on. Then again, I don't really think that that will bother YOU... g   
  
Okay, that's it. Enough of the rambling and on to the story!**

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Everlasting**

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By: **Nili  
  
  
  
**Rating: **PG-13. One day in the future I WILL manage to write a story with another rating, though. One day. g  
  
  
  
**Spoilers: **Several, actually. There are rather heavy spoilers for the "Silmarillion" in here, I think, and some small ones for the appendices of "The Return of the King". This story was inspired by several small remarks in my first story "An Eye For An Eye" (please don't ask me which chapters, because I honestly don't know), but I really don't think that it is necessary to have read it. You should be fine either way. If you, however, are still wondering if Morgoth captures Gondolin or not and are still of the opinion that the sons of Fëanor are really nice, reasonable chaps, you might not want to read this.  
  
  
  
**Disclaimer: **I do not own anything in Middle-earth; every single recognisable character, setting, place, event and so on belongs to J.R.R. Tolkien and his heirs. The rest, however (places, characters, etc.) belongs to me, so please don't kidnap any of my characters. They might be rather happy to get away from me, but I won't be. I do not have anyone's permission to use any of the above, but I do so anyway. I'm not a very nice person, I know. And, finally, this story was written just for fun, and I will most certainly not receive any money for it. It would be a wonderful way to earn my living, but you can't have everything, I guess. Please do not use any of my original characters without asking me first. Thank you.  
  
  
  
**Summary: **While Legolas is visiting his friends in Rivendell over Midyear's Day, a short hunting trip takes a turn for the worst when they unexpectedly encounter a group of orcs. In order to save their lives Legolas, Aragorn, the twins and the rest of their party have to split up, a decision that soon backfires and leaves not only one, but two lives hanging in the balance. While the elven prince and the ranger must try to make it back to Rivendell on their own, Elrond is reminded of the fact that darkness does not always threaten from without but rather from within and that, sometimes, surviving is the greatest tragedy of them all.   
  
  
  
**Series: **This story is, once again, part of my mini-series which still doesn't have a name, poor thing. It takes place a while before my first story though. So, this is my ... counts on her fingers ... fifth story, I think, after **"Straight Paths"**, **"An Eye For An Eye"**, **"The Heart of Men"** and **"To Walk in Night"**, taking place in III, 2952, about 16 months before **"An Eye For An Eye"**.   
  
  
  
  
**Additional Notes: **This newest bit of madness is a little birthday gift for Marbienl. She is ... well, let's say ... "slightly" obsessed with Aragorn H/C, Angst and everything else that looks remotely like it. Don't ask me why, but she has been nagging me about writing Legolas' and Aragorn's encounter with the hill-trolls which I mentioned only very briefly in my first story. I hadn't really thought about it, to be honest (I wrote that about 1 ½ years ago, after all!), but since she has been asking so nicely I did and voilà, this is the result. So, blame her, not me. g  
  
I have long ago decided to follow Cassia and Sio's lead and pretend that Gilraen was killed with Arathorn, and it's not because I don't like her, no. It's just that I have started this way because it was easiest. I think it's hard to integrate her into Rivendell-life realistically, and now that I feel confident enough to have a go at writing her, it's too late. g I hope you - and her - will forgive me for this not so little detail.  
  
Some people have therefore told me that my whole concept is an **AU**, and I think they are correct, in a way. I totally ignore the fact that Aragorn's supposed to have met Arwen just after he had been told of his heritage, and I must state here that I am aware of the fact that I am not Tolkien, and therefore do not even begin to sound like him, something that can only be commented with "Duh!" in my opinion. I could never write as well as he does, which means that you will have to bear with me.

  
A small note concerning the Elvish used in this story (this time, both Quenya and Sindarin): I am a follower of the "mellon nín" variety. If you like the undoubtedly equally correct "mellonen" better, bear with me. As far as I know, you can use both versions.   
  
And, last but not least: It is not a secret that English is not my first language. It is, in fact, my third, but that's beside the point. g So please, tell me when you find a blatant and horrible mistake somewhere - and you will, trust me. Some of them always manage to sneak their way into the stories no matter how hard I try. Pointing them out to me doesn't bother me at all and really helps to improve my English. Thank you!

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Chapter 1  
  
  
The first beams of light were slowly filtering through the heavy drapes in front of the carved windows, doing their best to find their way past the folds of thick cloth. It was still early in the morning, so early in fact that even the birds had woken only a few moments ago, but it seemed that the little animals were more than ready to make up for that fact by chirping even louder than usual.   
  
There was only one person in the dark, silent room, lying on a large bed with a beautifully carved headboard. Even though he lay quite motionless beneath the light covers, he was already awake and had been for some time, even though not even the sharp eyes of an elf would have been able to detect that fact with absolute certainty.   
  
That had several reasons, actually. One was that there was a whole family of thrushes outside his windows, making such a racket that it would have woken even the dead themselves. It had all started rather harmlessly a few months ago, namely with a single thrush which had even been quite trusting and nice. Then, however, that thrush had found a mate, and in a matter of weeks there weren't only two thrushes, there were nine. He was starting to suspect that his brothers had encouraged the noisy birds to breed in the tree right next to his balcony, which would be just the kind of thing the two dark haired elves would find amusing.   
  
But it didn't end there, of course. There was another reason, and a far more serious one at that. Said reason could be quite concisely be summed up with the words "Only an insane person slept late when Legolas and the twins were after his or her blood".   
  
Aragorn grinned and resisted the urge to stretch lazily, still dividing his attention between the door, the windows and the curtains that hung in front of his balcony door. To a casual observer it would appear that this behaviour was paranoid or at least exceedingly cautious, but he knew better. Legolas and his brothers would be coming for him, and he couldn't afford any incautiousness at all – at least not if he wanted to greet this coming dawn with all his limbs firmly attached and/or in the same state as they were now.   
  
The young man's grin widened even more. He didn't really know whether or not the twins had always behaved like this or whether he had rubbed off on them during his rather reckless childhood and youth, but they were behaving rather childish and vengeful lately – unlike him, of course. _He _was behaving like it befitted a young lord of twenty-one years, even though he was willing to admit that he was suffering some relapses from time to time.   
  
Then again, Aragorn thought smugly as he watched the sunlight that filtered through the heavy drapes, Legolas and the twins might see this a little differently; they usually did. He didn't really know how Legolas would call this latest … incident, but he was sure that the twins would call it at least a humiliation – if not a mortal offence.   
  
The ranger winced slightly, the first open sign that he was indeed awake and aware of his surroundings. The words "mortal offence", which his brothers had indeed mumbled once or twice if he wasn't very much mistaken, were quite a serious overstatement in his opinion. He hadn't truly _ done _anything, after all, and if Legolas and twins were to pause the tiniest bit and actually thought about the entire situation for a moment, they would come to the exact same conclusion…   
  
Aragorn was still dwelling on this particular subject when a soft, almost undetectable noise caused him to narrow his eyes and turn to the right, into the direction of the windows and the balcony door. The man held his breath and listened intently, trying to pinpoint the noise's source, and just when he was thinking that he had probably imagined things, another small noise could be heard, this time definitely from the balcony.   
  
The young ranger grinned as he silently pushed back his covers and stood up, wincing slightly when his bare feet touched the cold stone floor. Even though tomorrow was Midyear's Day or _Loënd_, the feast which the Halflings and Men also called Summer Solstice, it hadn't been exceedingly warm until now, and this early in the morning the stone tiles beneath his feet were so cold that he was actually willing to bet that he would freeze to the ground if he didn't keep moving.   
  
Taking his mind off the cold floor, Aragorn walked quickly over to the wall, keeping his eyes fixed firmly on the balcony door. Elladan and Elrohir were beginning to get rather predictable, even though that was something he wouldn't tell the two elves. He had known they would use the balcony! For a moment he regretted not having left a little surprise on the small platform outside his room, but then he shrugged inwardly. It was most likely for the best; he very much doubted that their father would be happy if he caused the twins to fall off his balcony and straight into the Bruinen.   
  
Judging by the soft conversation that could be heard from outside, however, it appeared that the two of them were doing quite a good job at that themselves.   
  
"Take my hand," a voice coaxed softly, sounding torn between concern and the urge to laugh. "Come on, brother, it's only a few inches."   
  
"These 'few inches', Elrohir," an almost identical, rather pressed voice ground out, "are more like half a metre."   
  
"Mere details," the younger twin brushed his brother's words aside. "Come, take my hand. I really don't want to explain to _ada _ that you fell off a balcony and broke every bone in your body. I don't think even he has that many splints at hand."   
  
"Most … likely not." By the sound of it, Elladan was making a grab for his twin's hand. "And who am I to inconvenience our lord and father?"   
  
"For one, not brave enough," Elrohir retorted, and Aragorn could all but see the smirk on the dark haired elf's face. "And, as unhappy as I am to admit it, not stupid enough, either."   
  
A soft grunt could be heard next, quickly followed by the sound of rustling clothes. It appeared that the younger twin had managed to pull Elladan up and over the railing of the balcony. The man's guess was quickly confirmed when his younger elven brother's voice could be heard, causing Aragorn to lean against the wall with a broad grin on his face.   
  
"You could thank me for saving you from a potentially deadly fall, dear brother."   
  
"Thank you?" Elladan's hushed voice sounded somewhere between outraged and amused. "_Thank you_? This was your idea in the first place! Why should I thank you for very nearly getting me killed?"   
  
"Oh, please," Elrohir obviously rolled his eyes, even though Aragorn could still not see his brothers because of the curtains that moved gently in the morning breeze. "We've done this a thousand times, and have never fallen or something like that! You act as if I have lured you into mortal peril!"   
  
"Keep your voice down!" the older twin told his brother sternly. "And I still say we should have used the door."   
  
"And walk right into one of his traps?" Elrohir retorted contemptuously. "I don't think so."   
  
Elladan said something, his voice just audible through the heavy material that separated the twins from their human brother, but Aragorn was listening only with one ear. He knew the two of them, very well at that, and this was far too easy. They had been making far too much noise, and were still conversing in voices that could be heard not only by him, but surely in the next room as well.   
  
Aragorn frowned, his attention still on the softly swaying curtains in front of him. If the twins were behaving like this, it could only mean that they wanted him to hear them. And if they wanted him to hear them, then they…   
  
A small noise behind him was all the warning he received, and while he was still turning around – moving with rather impressive speed for a human – he realised that he would be too late. A moment later all thoughts were driven from his mind by a wave of ice-cold water that drenched him from head to toe in a matter of half a second that gave him the distinct feeling that his body had just been plunged into an icy lake.   
  
The sudden cold thoroughly shocked him, and he couldn't suppress an indignant splutter of surprise. By the time he had regained his senses and had wiped wet strands of hair out of his eyes, the twins had poked their heads through the curtains in front of the balcony door, both wearing identical expressions of amusement that incensed the soaked ranger even more.   
  
"Did you get him?" Elladan asked eagerly.   
  
"Oh yes," the blond elf in front of Aragorn answered, dangling a very large, very empty bucket from one of his hands in an unbearably smug gesture. "I most definitely did."   
  
Aragorn needed a few seconds to regain his ability to speak, and a few extra seconds to decide whether he wanted to glare at the twins or the elven prince in front of him. Finally he raised a hand, shook it slightly from side to side to shake off the water that covered even his fingers and pointed it at the fair haired elf.   
  
"You," he accused him in a rather dangerous voice, "used the window."   
  
"Indeed," Legolas grinned at the dripping man.   
  
"And you never suspected a thing," Elrohir grinned as well, pushing the curtains to the side and giving the sunlight unhindered access to the airy room. "Our dear Legolas is rather stealthy, isn't he? For a wood-elf, I mean."   
  
"In light of our successful operation I will ignore that comment," the blond elf stated loftily and let go of the bucket, either because he had no further use for it or because he had noticed the deadly glares Aragorn was shooting him.   
  
The wooden pail dropped to the floor with a small thud, and a moment later Legolas had grabbed a towel from the windowsill next to him and tossed it at the drenched human in front of him. Aragorn caught it automatically, still glaring at the three young elves.   
  
"That was a totally unprovoked attack!" he complained while he peeled off his soaked shirt and let it drop to the floor. "Do you want me to catch a cold and _die_?"   
  
"Oh, stop overdramatising everything!" Elladan told him as he pushed back the curtains in front of the window. "Humans very seldom die from colds. You can count yourself lucky that you got off so lightly."   
  
"Lightly?" Aragorn repeated and grabbed another towel Legolas offered him, glaring daggers at the grinning Silvan elf. "Whatever did I do to merit such ill treatment?"   
  
"He asks what he did to merit such ill treatment!" Elrohir sighed and covered his face with a hand in a dramatic gesture. "Tell him, Legolas."   
  
Legolas smiled at the twin's antics and turned to his human friend, who was currently busy trying to dry his shoulder-length dark hair that was now more or less plastered to his skull.   
"Do I really have to tell you? You know well enough what you did!"   
  
Aragorn stopped towelling his hair and did his best to look sincere and innocent, something which nearly always failed. After a few moments he couldn't keep a straight face anymore and began to grin broadly.   
"Come now, my friend, 'twas only a joke!"   
  
"Ah," Elladan said and waggled one long finger from side to side, "If you tie someone's shoelaces together, that's a joke. If you hide someone's favourite book, that's a joke. If you, however, take someone's weapons and paint little flowers onto them, it's not a joke!!"   
  
Aragorn's grin widened even more as he remembered yesterday's weapon practice. The look on the twins' and Legolas' faces when they had drawn their swords – or, in Legolas' case, his knives – only to discover, in front of about twenty novices and a rather large number of captains, that their blades were covered with a multitude of painted flowers was not one he would forget any time in the near future. The man chuckled inwardly. Or ever.   
  
"The paint was easily removed with a bit of hot water; I really don't know why you are making such a fuss about it."   
  
"Yes," Legolas nodded, looking eerily like a warg before it jumped at you. "It was, which is the only reason why your brothers managed to convince me not to drown you in one of the pools."   
  
Aragorn blinked, not entirely sure if he should take the elf's words seriously or not, but then he turned around to his far-too-smug-looking brothers and gave them a curt nod.   
"It appears that thanks are in order, then."   
  
"They are indeed," Elladan nodded with a magnanimous gesture. "As much as I would have liked to watch Legolas try to drown you in the Bruinen or one of the pools, I really think that it would have displeased _ada_, only the Valar know why."   
  
"Who says I would merely try?" Legolas asked darkly, apparently still severely displeased about the man's attempt to … what had he called it once he had stopped laughing and had consented to climbing down from the tree in which he had cowardly taken refuge in face of their fury? Oh yes, the elven prince nodded inwardly, to _embellish _them. "I would most certainly have succeeded if I'd put my mind to it."   
  
"Of course," Aragorn grumbled under his breath, but the slowly spreading smile on his features belied his gruff tone of voice. "The mighty Prince of Mirkwood succeeds in every task to which he addresses his noble personage."   
  
"Precisely," Legolas nodded graciously as he leaned back against the windowsill, apparently not at all bothered by the human's sarcastic words. "I couldn't have put it better myself."   
  
"Then, _mellon nín_, you are in desperate need of expanding your vocabulary," Elladan announced with a wicked glint in his eyes.   
  
The grin on the older twin's face lasted for mere moments before he had to duck rather suddenly to avoid two wet towels that were flung at him, one by Legolas and one by Aragorn. Before either his friend or his brother had the chance to get their hands on any more wet or maybe even sharp objects Elladan had rushed out of the room, quickly followed by his twin who gave the two dour-looking beings a quick, half-smug and half-apologetic shrug.   
  
Legolas reluctantly put down a rather heavy wooden sculpture that had been sitting on the table next to the window, realising only now that Lord Elrond would have killed him if he had actually thrown the carving. He was no expert, but he was indeed rather sure that the small object in his hands was Númenórean in origin, and therefore hardly something you could easily replace.   
  
Aragorn seemed agree and gave him a wry grin while he dropped the wet towel he had wanted to throw at his brother to the ground and walked over to a large chest of drawers to get himself a clean and, most importantly, dry shirt.   
  
"You're lucky you didn't throw that," he told the elf with a nod at the small sculpture which Legolas was still holding. "Father would have skinned you alive."   
  
"Oh?" the elf asked somewhat anxiously as he carefully put the carving back onto the table. "Is it that valuable?"   
  
"No, at least not in a monetary sense," Aragorn shook his head. "It's something like a family heirloom. If my memory serves me right, it was made by Tar-Elendil when he was still a boy. He gave it to Elrond during one of his visits in Armenelos, Númenor's royal city."   
  
"Tar-Elendil," Legolas frowned softly, deciding not for the first time that there were some areas his tutors had neglected during his education, among them the history of Men. Or the history of the Dwarves, for that matter, but that was something he did not lament in the slightest. "Which one was he?"   
  
"Elros' great-grandson," Aragorn answered promptly. "And therefore the fourth king of _Anadûn_ – at least if you count Vardamir, Elros' son. He never accepted the kingship and abdicated in his son's favour."   
  
The man's quick answer and the softly spoken Adûnaic word once again brought Aragorn's heritage to the elf's mind, which the man had accepted so unwillingly. For a few moments, Legolas was silent while Aragorn selected a shirt and tunic and began to rummage through a nearby closet for a dry pair of breeches.   
  
"You know much about your ancestors' history, my friend."   
  
"Oh yes," Aragorn nodded grimly. "Quite a lot actually. But perhaps I shouldn't have used that particular name for their home? There is one much more fitting one: Atalantë. Is there not?"   
  
Legolas gave the man an emotionless look. That was a name for the isle of Númenor that he, too, knew: The Downfallen, a name that had been used after the island's destruction at the end of the last age.   
  
"This is not what I meant," he explained evenly. "I merely…"   
  
"I know," Aragorn turned around with an apologetic smile and nodded at the elf in front of him. "I know what you meant. I guess it's just that being woken by ice-cold water did not really improve my mood."   
  
Legolas was old and experienced enough to recognise an attempt to change the topic when it jumped into his face and grabbed him by the throat, but he merely put on a look of mock indignation and allowed this particular matter to drop. It was obvious that Aragorn didn't want to talk about this now – which was just fine with him. They'd talk about it later then.   
  
"You deserved it," he told the man haughtily. "Nobody takes a wood-elf's weapons, tampers with them and gets away with it. I think that is something you ought to remember, young one."   
  
Before the elf could react or even blink, something rather wet hit him in the face, making him stumble backwards. A part of him was rather impressed that a man could move so fast, but that part was swiftly being dwarfed by growing indignation and quite a bit of embarrassment. As graciously as he could he reached up and removed the wet towel that had wrapped itself around his head in a way resembling a persistent octopus.   
  
"That," he told the broadly grinning ranger in front of him, "was uncalled for. And a mistake."   
  
"You called me 'young one'," Aragorn shrugged, apparently quite unimpressed by the elf's thinly veiled threat. He had, after all, heard much worse from his brothers.   
  
"And that justifies this?"   
  
"Yes?"   
  
Legolas merely commented this with a snort and tossed the towel into Aragorn's direction, which the man ducked easily however, already having expected such a reaction from the elf.   
"Get dressed then," he told him darkly, but with a small sparkle of amusement in his eyes. "I don't kill half-dressed children."   
  
"So you only kill fully dressed children?" the young man shot back quickly.   
  
"Oh yes, of course," Legolas grinned before he turned around and walked over to the door. "I'm a wood-elf. Haven't any of Imladris' inhabitants told you about our favourite pastimes?"   
  
"Now that you mention it, yes, they have," Aragorn told the elf's retreating back, dropping the dry shirt and breeches he had chosen onto the now also rather wet bed. He grinned at the elf who had reached the door by now and was just turning back around to look at him. "Among the main characteristics of the common wood-elf," he recited in a way that sounded remotely like Erestor when he was talking about the common linguistic roots of Quenya and Sindarin, "is the urge to drink vast quantities of wine…"   
  
Legolas merely leaned back against the doorpost with an apparently benign smile on his lips that, on closer inspection, looked a little more like a forming snarl. Aragorn was either unaware of it or simply didn't care and just went on, a wicked glint in his eyes.   
  
"…to exceedingly indulge in something called 'merrymaking', something that is closely connected with the urge to consume countless pints of alcoholic beverages, further to abduct Men and Dwarves to drink their blood, to practice dark magic, to try and get their hands on any glittering objects and generally behave like overgrown magpies and to – put down that carving, Legolas!"   
  
Legolas had taken two quick steps forward and had seized the first projectile he had laid eyes on, namely the Númenórean sculpture. Only now did he seem to realise what he was doing, and with a frown that merely deepened the annoyed grimace on his face he slowly returned the carving to its place. After making sure that it looked just like when he had picked it up he raised his eyes and looked at the broadly grinning man.   
"Are there any more insults you wish to heap on my people, _adan_?"   
  
The thus addressed ranger wrinkled his brow in thought and finally shook his head.   
"No, I don't think so. Those were the more interesting ones, I believe."   
  
Legolas contented himself with glaring darkly at the man, but it appeared that he had to consciously stop his hands from moving once again into the direction of the wooden sculpture.   
"You should be grateful that Lord Elrond is such an art lover, ranger. Very, very grateful."   
  
"Yes," Aragorn grinned and made a quick movement with his hand. "Get out. If I don't get dressed now, I'll be too late to get anything to eat. If I don't get anything to eat, I will have to pester the kitchen staff, and if I have to pester the kitchen staff, we won't be able to leave on time with the rest of the hunting party. And that, _mellon nín_, will annoy Glorfindel, and believe me when I say that you don't want to see him when he's seriously displeased."   
  
The blond wood-elf seemed torn between the urge to harm the man in front of him and to heed his warning, but in the end common sense or his own experience with Lord Elrond's golden haired seneschal won out. No, Legolas thought, Lord Glorfindel was indeed not someone he would want to anger deliberately.   
  
With a last, dark look at the smirking human he turned back around and disappeared out of the door, only to poke his head back into the room a second later.   
"You forgot something, Estel," he told the dark haired man in a friendly manner. "We Wood-elves do not only practice dark magic and drink men's blood, we also like to roast those who wrong us in any way on spits and eat them bit by bit while they're still alive." He gave the slightly wide-eyed man another bright smile. "I'll see you at breakfast then, yes?"   
  
A moment later he was gone, and Aragorn slowly redirected his attention from the now empty spot at the door to his clothes, making a mental note to keep an eye on Legolas for the next few days, just in case the elf displayed any signs of cannibalistic tendencies. Remembering that there was a herd of deer just waiting to be hunted and that he would be too late if he didn't get a move on soon, he grabbed his shirt and tunic and snorted softly.   
  
"Actually," he told his dark green hunting shirt while he was pulling it over his head, "I think that explains quite a lot."  
  
  
  
  
He really didn't know why he was going along with this. It could end only in pain, disaster, death or blood, or a combination of all four. And, knowing his sons' and the prince's luck, it also _would _end in pain, disaster, death or blood.   
  
Elrond sighed deeply and did his best to forget his troubled thoughts, which was rather hard since he could almost see the dark clouds of doom gather on the horizon. It wasn't exactly a premonition or a vision that told him that it was _not _a good idea to let the four of them go anywhere together, but then again, you didn't really need to possess the gift of foresight to predict an unfavourable outcome to any excursion his sons and the Prince of Mirkwood undertook.   
  
Oh no, the Lord of Rivendell thought sarcastically, you didn't need to be foresighted to realise that. All you needed was a bit of common sense and a memory of average efficiency, and you reached that conclusion all by yourself in a matter of moments. Elrond frowned darkly. Elladan and Elrohir together equalled trouble. Elladan and Elrohir and Aragorn equalled even more trouble. Elladan and Elrohir, Aragorn and Prince Legolas equalled a catastrophe.   
  
The only thing that was stopping him from packing his bags to leave for Lothlórien in an attempt to avoid being drawn into this newest disaster that was surely to come was the fact that Glorfindel and a few other warriors would accompany them. No, Elrond thought darkly a moment later, that was a thought that would usually have cheered him up and comforted him – today, however, it did anything but.   
  
There were two main reasons for this, the dark haired elf lord mused, still not moving from where he was standing on one of the terraces that overlooked the lush valley that had been his home for more than thirty _yéni _now. One of them was of course that, even though the added company meant that his sons and Legolas wouldn't be alone and would therefore have at least a small measure of assistance and protection in whatever mad scheme they would get themselves involved in this time, it also meant that they would have the opportunity to drag their escort down into danger and doom with them. He really didn't look forward to treating even more patients than he inevitably would have to anyway.   
  
The more important reason, however, was that Glorfindel wasn't himself, something that was beginning to seriously worry the Noldorin lord. He had known the golden haired elf for a long, long time, and was maybe in fact one of the few people on this side of the Great Sea that could claim that they actually _knew _Glorfindel. Even despite his open and merry nature the ancient elf very seldom allowed anyone a glimpse of his true thoughts and feelings, and it happened even more rarely that he actually confided in someone.   
  
And that was the most annoying thing, Elrond thought indignantly. That stubborn elf simply wouldn't talk to him! He had tried everything but violence and a direct order to make his friend tell him what was wrong, or at least to sit down and talk to him for longer than a few minutes. He would have liked to believe that Glorfindel was avoiding his presence and counsel because he didn't wish to speak about whatever it was that was troubling him, but Elrond was slowly beginning to think that that might not be the only reason why he was more or less openly shunning him.   
  
The half-elf's grey eyes darkened slightly, lending them the appearance of a cloudy sky. He had never thought that he would say this, but he was beginning to hope that Glorfindel simply didn't want to talk with him. In reality another belief was spreading inside of him, namely that the other elf wasn't avoiding his counsel, he was avoiding _him_.   
  
Elrond sighed again, not even noticing that he was earning himself a strange look from a passing couple that could clearly not see what was so depressing about the beautiful, green valley at which their lord was staring. He had been trying to remember if there was anything he could have done to offend his fair haired friend, but try as he might, he couldn't think of anything that might have provoked such a reaction. And yet the fact remained: Every time Glorfindel looked at him an almost pained expression flittered over his face and his eyes darkened, and a moment later he sought excuses to leave his company.   
  
He was running out of options, Elrond concluded solemnly. If he had thought that openly confronting his fellow lord would gain any results, he would have done so a long time ago. It would not, however, and he was perfectly aware of that. It never helped to press Glorfindel in such matters; if confronted with such an accusation, he would flatly deny everything. If the golden haired elf lord wanted to talk to you, he would, and if he didn't, it would take far more than the word of Lord Elrond Peredhil to make him break his silence against his will.   
  
A command from the Valar might do it, though, the dark haired elf thought half-ironically and half-desperately. Maybe he could pretend to be Manwë … no, that would be rather impossible, what about Aulë? Ulmo would be possible as well, and if everything else failed, even a Maia might do, Elrond decided a moment later. It would have to be a powerful one though, maybe he could convince Glorfindel that…   
  
"Good morning, my lord."   
  
Elrond's thoughts about which of the Maiar would be terrible enough to prompt Glorfindel to actually start talking to him (Mithrandir, he decided inwardly, would definitely make the bigger impression, even though Curunír would be more eloquent by far) were rather abruptly interrupted, and he had to stop himself from startling visibly at the unexpected words.   
  
The elf lord willed himself not to jump and slowly turned around, hoping that he didn't show how surprised he really was. After all, a small voice at the back of his mind provided wryly, elf lords never allowed themselves to be startled by their people. He could almost hear Glorfindel's voice at that thought, lecturing him about all the things a proper elf lord did and did not do, and instead of the good-humoured annoyance he usually felt a small stab of sadness went through him.   
  
Elrond forced these thoughts to the back of his mind and inclined his head at the dark haired elf that was standing in front of him, and unreadable expression on his face.   
"Good morning, my Lord Erestor."   
  
The other elf lord returned the nod and stepped next to Elrond, a faint sparkle of amusement in his eyes as he gazed at the beautiful sight that was spreading out in front of them.   
"Is there something amiss, my lord?" he asked. "Has something befallen our fair valley and no one thought it important enough to inform me?"   
  
"No," Elrond retorted darkly. "And you know that very well too, my friend."   
  
"Maybe," Erestor answered with a slight bow. "But if there has been no orc invasion, no forest fire, no flood, no storm and no invasion of three-headed ravenous flesh-eating squirrels, then why do you look so sad, my lord?"   
  
Elrond ignored the other elf's question and merely stared at him with a raised eyebrow.   
"'Three-headed ravenous flesh-eating squirrels'?"   
  
A small smile spread on the advisor's usually so reserved face.   
"I am merely quoting your slightly unstable seneschal, my friend. I do not presume to understand everything he tries to tell me, nor how his mind works."   
  
Erestor's sharp eyes missed little, and the shadow that fell over the other elf's face at the mention of their fellow lord was as easily visible as the light of day. He frowned and cocked his head to the side, studying his lord with sudden intensity.   
"So it is Glorfindel who has put you in such a mood?" he asked softly. "Well, I can understand you perfectly well if that should be the case."   
  
"No," Elrond shook his head. "He has not. And yes," he added, to Erestor's obvious confusion, "he has."   
  
"He either has or he hasn't, my friend," Erestor pointed out calmly. "Not even Glorfindel can do both."   
  
Elrond smiled slightly at his friend and advisor.   
"It is nothing he said," he clarified. "It is what he does not say. There is something wrong with him, and has been for some time, and instead of allowing me to help him, he avoids me and seeks to flee my company. I do not know what I have done to him."   
  
"Nothing," Erestor shook his head evenly. At the confused look on the other elf's face he added, "Tell me, my lord, what time of year we have?"   
  
Elrond shot him a _look _that very clearly told him that he knew very well what date it was and that he should better get to the point if he valued his life, but when Erestor merely returned the look emotionlessly, he conceded defeat with a small sigh.   
  
"The thirty-first day of Lairë," he finally answered curtly. "Or, if you follow the calendar of Men, the last day of Nárië. Tomorrow will be Loëndë, or Summer Solstice. But I don't see what…" Elrond trailed off as sudden understanding began to spread on his face. "Oh, I see. Gondolin."   
  
"Yes," Erestor nodded softly. "Tomorrow it will be 6466 years that Gondolin fell, and with it Glorfindel."   
  
"But he has never behaved like this before!" the other elf shook his head and turned back to the valley, as if hoping the sight would offer him some solitude. "You have seen it happen as often as I have. Around Loëndë he gets a little withdrawn and taciturn, but that passes soon enough – or it usually does. He is behaving very strangely."   
  
"Stranger than usual?" Erestor asked, quirking one of his eyebrows in faint amusement.   
  
"Yes," Elrond smiled slightly. "Stranger than usual." He looked at the other elf, narrowing his eyes slightly when he saw the hints of uncertainty and worry on Erestor's face. So he wasn't the only one who had noticed Glorfindel's unusual behaviour, which was something that both scared and relieved him. "He has never behaved like this, has he?"   
  
"No," Erestor admitted softly. "He hasn't. First I thought that I was imagining things, but it appears that I was not. He and I may not agree on many things, but I still know when there is something wrong with him."   
  
Elrond would almost have smiled. To say that Erestor and Glorfindel didn't agree on many things was like saying that Morgoth had been mildly displeased after the Valar had cast down his fortress of Angband. They were simply too different to get along easily, but that didn't stop them from being good friends during the time they didn't want to kill each other.   
  
"At least I am not imagining things then," Elrond muttered disheartened. "He is avoiding you as well?"   
  
Erestor looked at his dark haired lord, inwardly debating whether or not he should answer that question truthfully.   
"No," he finally shook his head. "He is simply not talking to me and is behaving much too seriously, even when the twins or some of the other young ones are around. But no, he is not avoiding me, but I think that he is counting on his inhospitable attitude to keep everyone at a distance."   
  
"Then he has some quarrel with me of which I am unaware," the other elf lord sighed.   
  
"Why don't you simply ask him, my lord?" Erestor wanted to know.   
  
"Ask him?" Elrond arched an incredulous eyebrow. "Glorfindel? About things he does not wish to discuss?"   
  
"Perish the thought."   
  
"Indeed," Elrond agreed darkly. "But I think I _will _ask him tonight, no matter whether he wants to talk to me or not. Perhaps he'll be in a more amenable mood after having spent a day hunting."   
  
"Yes," the other elf nodded, doubt visible on every bit of his face. "Perhaps. And perhaps not."   
  
"No, perhaps not," the Lord of Rivendell sighed. "I very much doubt it myself; I'll admit that." He gave the valley that was stretching out in front of them a last look and straightened his shoulders, his muscles beneath the embroidered robes still tense with worry and suppressed nervousness. "Speaking of which: When are they leaving?"   
  
Erestor watched the calm mask slip over the other elf lord's face and sighed inwardly. He would have liked to help his friend, but it appeared that they both had no idea why Glorfindel was behaving so curiously. He had tried to tell himself that it was because of the date, because of the golden haired elf's memories of what had happened all these ages ago, but Elrond was right; it didn't truly fit. There was something wrong, and he had no idea what it was and how to make it right, and that was a situation the advisor did not appreciate in the slightest.   
  
A moment later he realised that his lord was still waiting for an answer, and he forced himself to return to the present.   
"In a few moments," he answered, not needing to ask to whom the other elf was referring. "They wanted to leave as soon as possible so they can return today before nightfall. They don't want to miss the festivities."   
  
Elrond's mood dropped to new, unheard-of levels. The Midyear's Day Feast – he had almost forgotten about it. It was a long-standing tradition among his people to celebrate the longest day of the year with a great feast that would start this evening and would last at least until tomorrow afternoon. He – just like about everyone else – had always loved this particular celebration, for it was a merry, cheerful feast, but right now he did not exactly feel like celebrating. And he was willing to bet any of his favourite books that he would be in an even less festive mood this evening, because the chances that every member of the hunting party returned unscathed were more than slim.   
  
"I see," he retorted as evenly as he could, doing his best not to let his dark mood show. "Well, then we should see them off, shouldn't we?"   
  
Erestor wordlessly inclined his head and followed his friend into the direction of the courtyard. To get there took them quite a bit longer than it usually would have, because a multitude of elves were busy decorating the halls and grounds of Rivendell for the upcoming celebration. After avoiding about the third near-collision this day, this time with a young elf who was busy pinning garlands to the many pillars of the entrance hall, they managed to reach the courtyard that was bustling with people.   
  
The two elf lords stopped for a moment, and Erestor asked himself just why the time before a feast, be it Midyear's Day or Winter Solstice or any other holiday, had to resemble complete and utter chaos. He did not like chaos, not even when it was of the perfectly peaceful and harmless sort which filled the space in front of them. In fact, the dark haired advisor mused while his eyes wandered over the elves that were hastening from one end of the courtyard to the other, laden with lamps and flowers, the most dangerous thing that could happen to you today in Imladris was that you strangled yourself with a wreath of flowers.   
  
The elf's face froze slightly as his eyes came to rest on the group of people – on the _only _ group of people, he corrected himself quickly – who would manage to do just that. Erestor's eyes narrowed as he followed his lord who had begun to walk over to the small group of people that were crowding around a few horses. Yes, if there was anyone at all who could possibly strangle himself with garland, it was the twins, Estel and Thranduil's son. The mere thought of them going anywhere together sent cold shivers of dread down Erestor's spine, and he was sure that Elrond was feeling the same.   
  
The Lord of Rivendell was indeed feeling the same, and yet he could barely suppress a smile as he looked at his sons and their friend. He had of course heard about the little joke which Aragorn had played on his brothers and the young prince, and only an hour or so ago the halls had buzzed with rumours of what the twins had done as retribution. Right now Aragorn was glaring at his elven brothers who were pretending to shake with fear at his wrath, while the Prince of Mirkwood was barely keeping from laughing.   
  
Elrond shook his head and stepped closer, doing his best not to let his amusement show on his face. If the twins had poured ice-cold water over their brother in the winter, he would most likely have been severely displeased, but in the summer it had most likely not done any harm. The three younger elves and the ranger fell silent as the Lord of Imladris stopped in front of them, Erestor only a step behind him.   
  
The twins ignored their human brother's dark looks and smiled at their stern-faced father, trying to look as innocent as possible. They didn't really know if their father was angry with them, but there was no reason not to try and at least look innocent of all transgressions.   
"Good morning, _ada_," Elrohir smiled at his father.   
  
"Don't try this look on me," Elrond shook his head, but there was an amused sparkle in his eyes. "I know what you did." Aragorn shot the twins a nasty look and opened his mouth to speak, but before the man could say a single word, Elrond cut him off. "And I won't get involved, not for all the mithril in this world, so you can stop looking at me like that, Estel." He gave his three sons and the far too innocent-looking blond wood-elf next to them a stern look. "Do you have bandages?"   
  
Elladan nearly rolled his eyes.   
"Yes, _ada_."   
  
"Splints?"   
  
"Yes, _ada_."   
  
"Herbs? Crushed roots? Needles?"   
  
"_Ada_!" Aragorn exclaimed, indignation on his face. "We are going on a hunting trip! The most dangerous thing that can happen is that Elladan falls off his horse again and scares the game away."   
  
"I do not fall off horses!" Elladan protested outraged.   
  
"I seem to remember something else," Elrohir grinned at his incensed twin. "For example the one time you…"   
  
Elrond blinked twice, realising that he was beginning to lose control of this conversation.   
"Ah," he raised his hand, "stop this. Are you sure you have everything you need?"   
  
"Yes, father," Elrohir nodded earnestly, taking his eyes off his furiously grumbling brother. "In the highly unlikely case," he ignored Erestor's muffled snort, "that something does indeed happen, we have everything we could possibly need. Ever."   
  
"Besides," Aragorn added, "we won't be alone. Glorfindel will accompany us, and so will Elvynd and his men. We will be perfectly safe, and back before the feast even starts."   
  
Elrond bit back a number of incredulous and/or sarcastic remarks and slowly let his eyes wander over the small group of warriors that were waiting some paces to their right, looking not very happy about the situation they were finding themselves in. In fact, a small voice inside his head noted dryly, they were very much looking like elves who had just been condemned to a slow, painful death.   
  
A dark haired elf standing at the front of the small group raised his head, swallowed rapidly and gave his lord a quick, faint smile that looked more than a little bit insincere, and Elrond turned back to his sons and the prince, a small scowl on his face.   
"Promise me to be careful, all of you. If you encounter orcs or anything else that could be dangerous in any way, I want you to turn around and run."   
  
"We do not run from orcs," Elrohir scoffed.   
  
"Oh yes, you will, or you won't be leaving," Elrond retorted in a steely tone of voice. "I don't want to spend Summer Solstice patching all of you up. If you get involved in any fighting, you will wish you hadn't come back once you do."   
  
"No fighting, my lord. You have my word," Legolas nodded quickly, recognising that particular tone of voice. It was the same as the one his father used every time before he lost his temper. "I will look after your sons, and I promise that we will not seek out any of Morgoth's creatures."   
  
Elrond nodded slowly, realising very well that this promise wasn't exactly what he had been asking them of them, but knowing just as well that it was all he was going to get. The twins and Aragorn were still nodding approvingly at their fair haired friend when a movement to their left caught the elf lord's eyes, and he turned to lay eyes on Glorfindel who was just entering the courtyard, his bow and quiver slung over one shoulder.   
  
The dark haired lord left the young ones to their soft conversation and took a few steps away from them, his eyes not leaving his golden haired friend. The other hadn't seen him yet, but even now his face was strained and too pale. If Glorfindel had been mortal, he would have thought that he was ill or suffering from some kind of sickness, but he was not mortal. He was an elf, and elves didn't get sick. There was nothing wrong with his friend's body unless he was suffering from some sort of hidden poison, so there had to be something wrong with his spirit.   
  
Elrond was still studying the other elf when Glorfindel's head came up and his eyes locked with his lord's. Something appeared in his eyes, something that the dark haired elf couldn't identify in the few seconds that it was visible, but at least he didn't wince when he saw him. It was something that filled him with a sort of mild relief, but not nearly enough to dampen the sadness and worry in his heart. The small sparkle in the other's eyes disappeared as quickly as it had emerged, and Glorfindel walked over to him, a rather blank expression on his face.   
  
"My lord," he nodded when he had reached the spot where Elrond was standing, still watching him.   
  
"Glorfindel," Elrond nodded back. He wanted to say more, but for once in his life he was at a loss for words. After several moments he simply added, "Try to bring them back in one piece, will you?"   
  
The blond elf smiled slightly, a smile that did not reach his serious eyes.   
"I will do my best."   
  
"I know you will," Elrond smiled as well. "I really would like to spend this Midyear's Day in relative peace and quiet."   
  
That had apparently not been the right thing to say, and the dark haired elf watched with an inward, weary sigh how the emotionless mask attached itself even more firmly to his friend's face. Every single bit of what had been still visible of Glorfindel's feelings disappeared behind a blank wall that seemed to slide over his eyes, and Elrond felt how his frustration even mounted. He really had enough of this now.   
  
"We will be back before the sun has set, my lord," Glorfindel promised tonelessly.   
  
"Good," Elrond nodded curtly. "We have to talk."   
  
"About what?" the other elf asked, apparently greatly surprised.   
  
"You know about what, or your mind isn't as astute as everyone else believes it to be, my friend. As soon as you're back, we will talk."   
  
The blond elf opened his mouth to say something, apparently to deny knowing about what the younger one was talking, but then he closed it again without uttering a sound. For a few moments the two elves merely stared at each other, but then the fair haired lord inclined his head slightly, a weary smile flittering over his face.   
"Is that an order, my lord?"   
  
"If it has to be," Elrond nodded again, flinty determination in his grey eyes, "Even though I would prefer it if it were not."   
  
Glorfindel smiled again, this time a little more genuinely.   
"Then we will talk once I get back."   
  
"I will be here," the other elf inclined his head.   
  
Glorfindel returned the nod before he turned around and began to walk over to the other elves who were still waiting patiently behind him. It took him only a few moments to urge the twins, Aragorn and Legolas to stop quarrelling among themselves and to mount his horse, and soon the small group of people were disappearing through the gates amidst laughter and glad shouts.   
  
Elrond remained where he was, looking after the hunting party, his sons' laughing promises to be careful still ringing in his ears. The last horse soon passed out of sight, but still the elf lord did not move, somehow feeling even worse now than he had before. With a deep sigh he finally turned around, forcing himself to try and let himself be cheered up by the festive mood of the elves around him.   
  
He hadn't taken more than two steps when Erestor appeared at his side, moving as soundlessly as a wraith in the night.   
"Later?" was all he asked, concern shining brightly in his eyes.   
  
"Later," Elrond affirmed softly, once again turning back into the direction where he had last seen his sons, Glorfindel and the others. "If I can corner him or tie him to something unmoving."   
  
"Good luck then, my lord," Erestor said seriously, and a moment later he was gone, disappearing in the mass of busy elves that were hastening to and fro.   
  
Elrond looked after his advisor with a small smile on his lips, and when he turned back toward the main entrance of the Last Homely House he agreed silently that luck was something he would most likely need in abundance.

**   
  
  
  
  
TBC...**

  
  
  
  
  
_Loëndë (Q.) - "Year-middle", Midyear's Day, also called Summer Solstice. On a modern calendar, it falls on the 22nd of June  
ada (S.) - father (daddy)  
mellon nín (S.) - my friend  
Anadûnê (Adûnaic) - Westernesse; another name for the Isle of Númenor  
adan (S.) - human, man  
yéni (pl. of yén) - elvish unit of time, equivalent to 144 years  
Lairë (Q.) - 'Summer', the time between the (modern) 22nd of May and the (modern) 1st of August  
Nárië (Q.) - the sixth month of the year according to the Stewards' Reckoning. On a modern calendar, the time between the 23rd of May and the 21 of June  
  
  
  
  
_**Poor Elrond. One would think he would have learned to listen to his premonitions of doom, wouldn't one? shakes head Honestly. Well, he'll be shown that it would have been easier for everyone involved if he'd just locked all of them into one of the cellars and thrown away the key. g Be that as it may, I usually say "Review, please" or something like that here. I'll try to update ... hmm, let's see ... on Saturday or Sunday, I think, and reviews generally help with that. Yes, I have finished the story already, but they'll help nonetheless. Honestly. So: Review, please! g**


	2. Waylaid

**Disclaimer:** For full disclaimer, please see chapter 1.  
  
  
**A/N:  
  
Well, it is very nice that so many of you remembered this little story. I didn't really expect anyone to review, and am now very pleasantly surprised. Thank you all very much! huggles all readers I am sorry for not updating yesterday, but a friend of mine with whom I hadn't spoken in ages called and before I knew what was happening, it was 11 pm. I wanted to update, really, but I didn't make it in time. Sorry.  
  
It's also great to see - even if it is also a little bit disconcerting g - that there are quite a lot of people looking forward to, and I quote, "Aragorn hurt/comfort, blood, sickness, poison". I have to admit that yes, there will be some of the above (okay, I'll be honest: Most of it g) in this chapter and the next ones - I couldn't control my alter ego. It's all her fault. But it's not exactly going to be a pleasure cruise for Legolas and Glorfindel either, so those of you who want to see blond-elf-angst-and-pain (or whatever you want to call it) should be happy too. reassuring smile But you will have to wait until the last chapter to find out what's wrong with him, but hey, this only has five chapters all together. You won't have to wait long this time.  
  
Oh, one other thing: Yes, I WILL write a sequel to "To Walk In Night", but I have to admit that I haven't even started yet. I have yet another evil college paper from hell due in about one and a half weeks, and I haven't even decided on the topic yet! I very much doubt that I will start before the end of the month, so I think you can expect the first chapter around the 20th of August at the very earliest. smiles sheepishly Sorry about that. I once again underestimated the ability of Darth Real Life to foil my plans.  
  
  
Anyway, here's the next chapter, in which poor Elvynd narrowly escapes almost certain doom, the twins and Legolas have a little discussion, Glorfindel has a bad feeling that's not nearly bad enough and Aragorn has a bad day. Oh, and yes, there's a little cliffy at the end. Only a tiny one though, I promise. g  
  
Enjoy and review, please!**

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Chapter 2   
  
  
Elvynd didn't know what he had done to deserve this, he truly didn't. Yes, he was a Noldo, but the days of the Kinslaying were long past and it was therefore highly unlikely that the Valar were trying to punish him for the deeds of his forefathers. Besides, the dark haired elf thought defiantly, his grandmother hadn't even been of the Noldorin people. She had been one of the Nandor, and he was therefore not even a full Noldo. That had to count for something, hadn't it?   
  
Apparently it didn't, the young elf added tiredly after a few moments as he looked at the laughing faces of his lord's sons and the Prince of Mirkwood. The four of them seemed to be in high spirits, and even Estel looked merry enough. He had apparently decided to let the matter of the twins' retribution drop for the moment, even though Elvynd knew him better than to believe that he had forgiven them. He didn't know whether it was because of his elven blood or because he had grown up here in Rivendell with the twins, but Estel didn't forget such things easily.   
  
That was a character trait that had brought the rest of Imladris much entertainment over the years, even though it had probably done just the opposite to Lord Elrond. It was widely considered a miracle that the Lord of Rivendell hadn't gone insane yet, but Elvynd was a supporter of the theory that it could only be a matter of time.   
  
The young elf asked himself for the umpteenth time why he had allowed his friend Isál to talk him into this. Isál was another captain of the guard and it had been _his _ duty to accompany Lord Glorfindel and their lord's sons, but somehow Isál had convinced him to undertake this duty for him. He didn't really know how his friend had managed to persuade him to swap shifts with him, but there was one thing he did know very well: He would get him for it. He most certainly would, and if it was the last thing he ever did.   
  
Elvynd was torn out of his dark thoughts by Estel's laughing voice, and with an inward sigh he raised his head and redirected his attention to his surroundings. It took him a moment to catch sight of the young man, who was riding at the head of the column with his brothers and the son of Thranduil.   
  
"Elvynd! Come and help us settle a little dispute!"   
  
The young dark haired captain swallowed heavily and shot two of his snickering men who were riding next to him fiery glares. The two warriors' faces quickly became emotionless once more as they found a sudden interest in the dark blue sky and the slowly setting sun, and Elvynd returned his eyes to the waving man who was riding a few yards in front of him. With a small, inward sigh the elf spurred on his horse and caught up with the three elves and the human who were looking at him expectantly.   
  
"Estel," he nodded somewhat wearily at the man when he had reached his side. "What kind of dispute is it you are talking about?"   
  
"One of the greatest importance," the young ranger retorted gravely. "You could even say that it is a matter of life or death. _Your _life or death, if I'm not very much mistaken."   
  
Oh yes, Elvynd thought while he tried not to let his mounting anxiety show on his face, Isál was dead. He would kill him, or better yet, he would tell that maiden his friend had been worshipping from afar for the past two centuries how much he liked her. And then he would watch how Isál died of embarrassment when he actually had to talk to her.   
  
"Elvynd?"   
  
The young captain blinked and forced himself to abandon his rather amusing vision of Isál going red in the face until his head exploded and looked up. Lord Elrond's sons and the prince were looking at him with identical expressions of puzzlement, and Elvynd managed to smile slightly.   
  
It wasn't that he didn't enjoy their company – or their jokes, for that matter – but he was in fact an elf with a rather pronounced sense of self-preservation, which was having a fit inside his skull right now. To go anywhere with the twins and the Prince of Mirkwood and to expect to return home in the condition you had left it was foolishness or extremely positive thinking, and Estel's presence somehow only served to make everything even worse.   
  
"Yes?" he retorted, the faint smile still adorning his face. "You were saying, Estel?"   
  
"Are you alright, Elvynd?" Elrohir answered for his human brother, manoeuvring his horse a little bit closer to that of the elven warrior and peering intently into his face. "You looked rather pale for a few seconds, and then you suddenly began to grin."   
  
"Quite evilly, too," Elladan nodded.   
  
"One could almost say," Elrohir chimed in again, "that you were looking positively malevolent, is that not true, my brothers?"   
  
Elladan and Aragorn nodded gravely, something that gave them the appearance of a pair of solemn owls.   
"Indeed," Elladan nodded. "What were you thinking about, Elvynd?"   
  
"Nothing," the other elf shook his head quickly. "Nothing of importance, my lord."   
  
"If you say so," Aragorn said with a suspicious look at the dark haired elf, but finally decided to let the matter drop when he remembered why they had invited him to join them in the first place. "So, what do you think, my friend: Did Elladan hit that stag or was it Elrohir?"   
  
Three dark heads and a pale golden one turned and four pairs of eyes fixed on Elvynd's face, who suddenly felt very much like a worm pinned on a fishhook. The dark haired elf took a deep breath and slowly turned to look at the stag in question that was at the moment draped over one of the pack animals, together with the rest of the deer they had managed to shoot. A few moments later he looked back at the elves and the man in front of him, his eyes frantically darting from one to the next in the vain hope of discovering a sign that they weren't really expecting an answer from him.   
  
After another few seconds he gave an inward groan. No sign.   
  
"I … don't really think I can … say anything about that, my friends," he finally began, choosing every single word with great care. "I wasn't actually watching when it happened."   
  
"Yes, you were!" Elrohir exclaimed, half-indignantly and half-offended. "You were standing next to Glorfindel, who was standing next to your lieutenant, who was standing next to Estel, who was standing next to Legolas, _who _was standing right next to the stag!"   
  
Elvynd blinked slowly and needed a few moments to reconstruct what the younger twin had said, but finally realised that he'd got him there. He had indeed been standing next to an unusually solemn-looking Lord Glorfindel at the time both of the twins had taken a shot at the stag. He shot Estel a dark, vicious look that the human ignored with infuriating efficiency and opened his mouth to speak, frantically trying to come up with a safe answer.   
  
"I think you both hit it at the same time," he finally said. There, that sounded safe enough, didn't it?   
  
Elladan and Elrohir snorted in unison while Aragorn and Legolas suppressed an amused smile, and Elvynd mentally hung his head. They were not letting him off this easily, it appeared.   
  
"_Of course _we both hit it," Elladan said slowly, as if talking to a particularly dumb child. "My arrow, however, was the one that hit the stag first and killed it."   
  
"What do you mean, 'of course' you hit it?" Legolas demanded to know before Elrohir could articulate the outraged words that were on the tip of his tongue. "You're Noldor."   
  
Elvynd would almost have kissed the prince, no matter how seriously he might just have insulted his people. One of the twins' and Prince Legolas' Wood-elves/Teleri-versus-Noldor-arguments should be enough to sufficiently distract them from this topic.   
  
Just as he had thought, the twins and Estel straightened up on their horses, and three pairs of grey eyes fixed unbelievingly on the wood-elf's widely grinning face. With a grin of his own Elvynd allowed his horse to fall back a little, shooting his men who were listening intently a look that told them to be silent, in the Valar's name. Not getting involved in this was by far the wisest – and healthiest – policy.   
  
"Pardon me?" the young man finally asked, putting one hand to an ear in the universal gesture that he had trouble understanding what the elf was saying.   
  
"Oh, you heard me, Estel," Legolas grinned, apparently not at all impressed by the _look _the twins were shooting him that was bordering on positively murderous.   
  
"No, I don't think I heard you correctly," the ranger said, emphasising every single word. His eyes flickered over to his far-too-calm-looking brothers before they returned to his friend's face, telling him unambiguously that he should better seize this chance to take back his words if he cherished living. "Please, could you repeat your words?"   
  
"With pleasure," Legolas retorted amiably, the grin on his face only widening. "I pointed out that you were Noldor. The Deep Elves are known for many things, but not exactly for their accuracy with a bow."   
  
A spluttering, choking sound could be heard from the twins that resembled the noises of two gagging chickens more than anything else. For a few seconds, neither of the two dark haired elves seemed to be capable of clearly articulated sentences, but then Elrohir managed to swallow his indignation to speak.   
  
"Excuse me?" he asked unbelievingly, his eyes impossibly large. "We are _what_?"   
  
"Obviously you are not too keen-eared either," Legolas muttered under his breath, a wicked sparkle of amusement shining brightly in his silver-blue eyes.   
  
If they hadn't been riding at the moment, the twins might have actually tried to lunge at the wood-elf, who had moved his horse safely out of reach. For a few moments, the twins merely stared at the widely grinning Silvan elf while Aragorn shook his head slowly, already guessing how this was going to end, namely in pain and blood and him having to explain to his father and King Thranduil why the twins and Legolas had tried to kill each other.   
  
At least he thought that Legolas would be more than willing to defend himself in the rather unlikely case that the twins lost control over themselves – which would be, by the way, his fault, since he had started this whole argument. He wasn't really sure, of course, since he had known the blond elf for only a little more than a year. Even the – for an elf – extremely short time that they had known one another had been enough for him to consider Legolas his best friend, but he was still not entirely sure about what Legolas would do or not do in certain situations.   
  
Elladan said something next to him, sounding torn between indignation and amusement, but Aragorn wasn't truly listening, only keeping on ear open for sounds that would indicate that the twins would be trying to do something drastic to the still grinning wood-elf. The man thought back to the time when he had met Legolas, just after Elrond had told him about his heritage and true name.   
  
The man winced inwardly. It hadn't exactly been a friendly meeting, and now that he remembered it from a safe distance, he was more than ever of the opinion that it was a major miracle that they hadn't killed each other. He had never asked his elven friend if he had felt the same, but back then he had definitely come close to trying to strangle Legolas more than once.   
  
And it was not hard to see why he had had these rather powerful urges back then, the man thought with a small smile while he watched his brothers and friend insult each other in what appeared to be a deadly serious argument. If one didn't know Legolas, it was easy to think that he was just an arrogant, haughty, self-important prince who attached far too much value to his rank and accuracy with the bow.   
  
Which was essentially true, Aragorn smiled inwardly as he listened to the twins' newest accusation (they were claiming that the Teleri in general and the Wood-elves in particular had a lousy sense of direction). Legolas was all that and more – but only to the people who didn't know him well. He was also a loyal, kind, merry and quick-witted companion, and the best friend one could wish for. If, the man added ironically while Legolas was accusing the Noldor of having dwarven character traits, he wasn't busy insulting you or generally making you so mad that you would give your right arm for a chance to kill him.   
  
A few minutes later the three elves seemed to have run out of insults and were staring at each other, merriment lurking behind mock indignation. Deciding that this was his best chance to stop their bickering, Aragorn quickly cast a look over his shoulder to make sure that Elvynd and his men were out of earshot before he turned back to his brothers and friend, looking earnestly from one to the next.   
  
"There is something I wanted to talk to you about," he said softly, using the conspiratorial tone of voice he knew at least his elven brothers wouldn't be able to resist. "If you are finished, that is?"   
  
Elladan shot Legolas a quick look that very clearly said that they were anything but, but nodded quickly as he saw the rather annoyed look on his human brother's face.   
"For now, we are," he said with a nasty side-look at the elven prince. "What is it, _muindor nín_? Do you need advice from your older and far wiser brothers?"   
  
Aragorn shot his older elven brother an incredulous look.   
"If I really needed some advice, I would most certainly not go to either of you. You would only tell me something like 'If you don't like your food, you may throw it at Glorfindel'." Legolas turned unbelieving eyes on the man, and so Aragorn explained, "They told me that when I was four or five years old. And I believed them."   
  
"Oh yes, those were the times," Elrohir sighed wistfully. "Why oh why did you have to grow up so fast, Estel?"   
  
"I agree, brother," Elladan grinned. "The look on Glorfindel's face was priceless. I think he still doesn't like blackberry tarts."   
  
"And can you blame him?" Elrohir retorted with a grin of his own. "He needed hours to get all the juice out of his hair and off his clothes. For a while, he looked rather like a magpie, with half his hair dyed black with the juice."   
  
"You didn't really do that, did you?" Legolas asked, about to burst with laughter and disbelief. "How is it that you're still alive?"   
  
"Well," Aragorn answered modestly, "I think _ada _ stopped him from killing me. Not even Glorfindel's claims that I was a balrog in disguise and that it was therefore his duty to slay me could sway his mind – for which I am eternally grateful, of course."   
  
Legolas laughed softly while he tried to picture Lord Glorfindel covered with blackberry juice, but turned serious again rather quickly.   
"But we digress, my friend," he told the man who was riding next to him, studying him in the setting afternoon sun. "What is it about which you wanted to talk with us?"   
  
"Glorfindel," Aragorn answered promptly, nodding into the direction of the tall, golden haired warrior who was riding alone at the head of the small group. "And no, not about the blackberry-incident, Elladan."   
  
The twins traded a quick look, and Elrohir finally nodded carefully.   
"So you have noticed it too?"   
  
"It is hard not to notice something as obvious as that," Aragorn shrugged slightly. "I don't think I have ever seen him so quiet and withdrawn."   
  
"Oh, he's like that sometimes," Elladan shrugged as well. "It's only natural, so close to Midyear's Day."   
  
Aragorn and Elrohir nodded, but Legolas looked rather confused.   
"Why? What does Summer Solstice have to do with anything?"   
  
"Tomorrow will be the thirty-second Day of Lairë, Legolas," Elrohir explained quietly. "Midyear's Day is the anniversary of Gondolin's destruction."   
  
"Oh," Legolas nodded solemnly, only now remembering the time of year the High King Turgon's city had fallen to Morgoth and his legions. "I see."   
  
"Yes, I have noticed it too," Aragorn agreed impatiently, "But it's far worse than usual! He's not talking to anyone, not even to father or Erestor. Don't tell me you hadn't noticed."  
  
"No," Elladan nodded as well, "We have noticed, of course. But there is nothing we can do. We can only hope that he will confide in us when he feels he is ready to do so, or that _ada _will get him to talk about what is bothering him."   
  
"You could simply ask him what is wrong," Legolas suggested with an amusedly quirked eyebrow.   
  
To his surprise, all three brothers started laughing uproariously, as if he had just said the funniest thing imaginable to man, elf, hobbit or otherwise. With an annoyed grimace Legolas patted his horse's neck and finally crossed his arms over his chest, shooting dark looks at the snickering elves and the man.   
"Did I say something amusing, _mellyn nín_?"   
  
The three of them needed some more moments to calm down sufficiently to speak, and finally Aragorn nodded shakily, wiping tears of mirth out of his eyes.   
"Well … yes, in a way," he finally ground out. "The mere idea of asking Glorfindel about something he so obviously doesn't want to talk about is … well, yes, _amusing_."   
  
"He wouldn't even bother not telling the truth," Elladan nodded. "He would simply stare at you with that patented 'Why-am-I-surrounded-by-imbeciles-look' and walk away."   
  
"And then, if you pressed the matter, he would tell you that there is nothing he would care to discuss, in a tone of voice that would impress even the Dark Lord himself," Elrohir added. "Believe me, Legolas, there is no way that he will tell you anything if you ask him."   
  
"Well," the fair haired prince shrugged, "You could always…"   
  
What they could do they would never find out, because in this moment the object of their discussion stopped his horse so abruptly that the gleaming white animal threw back its head and pranced on the spot in an annoyed manner. In a matter of moments the four young beings and the rest of the small hunting party had reached the golden haired elf's side and stopped next to him.   
  
Glorfindel didn't really seem to realise that the others had reached him, with his head cocked to the side and his eyes scanning the trees in front of them. After a few moments of waiting for an explanation for the elf lord's behaviour – which was not forthcoming – Elrohir finally reached out and touched the other elf's upper arm, frowning slightly when he felt how tense his muscles were beneath the brown suede tunic.   
  
"Glorfindel? What is wrong?"   
  
It took Glorfindel another few moments to realise that he was being spoken to, but then he seemed to shake himself out of his short paralysis.   
"I don't like this. We should ride back and take the longer road."   
  
Aragorn narrowed his eyes and studied the road in front of them. He could understand Glorfindel's unease, at least partly. He had never liked this part of the path himself. A few yards ahead the road was turning sharply to the left, winding around a small copse of trees and hiding the rest of the path from sight. The forest was rather thin here, since they were still a good deal away from Rivendell and there weren't many trees north of the Last Homely House. The further you rode north, the fewer trees there were and the more dangerous and stonier the terrain became, and if the deer hadn't led them a merry chase here, they wouldn't even have thought about coming here.   
  
Right now, however, he didn't see anything out of the ordinary. The sun was just setting in the West, casting a red-golden glow over the lands, and Aragorn's senses could detect nothing that could be construed dangerous in any way. Then again, the man reasoned inwardly, he was no elf, and when Glorfindel said something was wrong, something usually _was _wrong, too. Most of the time, something was even very wrong.   
  
Elladan wrinkled his brow, seeming to have come to the same conclusion.   
"Do you sense something?"   
  
"I'm … not sure," the older elf replied uncertainly. "There is danger afoot, even though I cannot say where exactly. I think we should ride back; there is no need to risk anything."   
  
Elrond's oldest son traded a quick look with his twin before he turned slightly and gave Elvynd and his men a quick look. The dark haired captain inclined his head minutely while most of his men were busy staring past the twins and the other elves and mustering the trees sharply, as if hoping to gain any clues as to what might have unsettled the golden haired lord.   
  
"As you wish," Elladan said a moment later. "We will take the longer route."   
  
Glorfindel nodded, his eyes still not leaving the dark trees in front of him, and a second later the troupe had turned around and was heading back the way they had come. The light-hearted mood from earlier had disappeared in an instant, and tension and nervousness seemed to emanate from every single one of the riders.   
  
Aragorn cast a quick, cursory glance over his shoulder, half-expecting a horde of orcs or wargs to burst through the trees. Elrohir gave his human brother a quick look and grinned at him, reaching out to pat his arm reassuringly.   
"Don't worry, Estel, nothing will hurt you. We will protect you."   
  
"Very funny," the man said sourly with a side-look at the golden haired elf lord who still seemed to be definitely ill at ease. "Every time Glorfindel thinks something is wrong I end up in the healing wing. I don't like this at all."   
  
"Neither do I," Legolas nodded next to him, righting his quiver and positioning it so that he could reach his arrows more quickly. "Apart from the fact that I trust Lord Glorfindel's instincts implicitly, there is a whisper of danger in the air. The trees are afraid, and not only for themselves. Something is out there, something that doesn't mean us well."   
  
"Oh, won't _ada _be happy?" Elrohir sighed dramatically. "And we promised him not get into any trouble."   
  
"Do you have any idea what might have been in the forest?" Aragorn asked when their horses had reached the fork in the road they had left behind some minutes ago. This time, they chose the left path, which circumvented the woods and led down into the valley through the rocky hills to the north of Rivendell.   
  
"Maybe some trolls," Elladan shrugged slightly. "Even though they shouldn't wake up for another hour or so, until it's truly dark. But I don't really think so, since the only trolls east of the Trollshaws are hill-trolls, and they are usually further to the north, closer to the Ettenmoors."   
  
"Then again, knowing our luck," Elrohir added lightly, "there might also have been some wargs or wolves, or a combination of all three. And we should certainly not forget the possibility that it was orcs."   
  
"They would have been up a bit early, wouldn't they?" Aragorn asked nonchalantly.   
  
"Well, the sun is just setting," Legolas pointed out calmly. "Orcs don't like the twilight hours, but they can stand them, if they have to."   
  
Elladan grinned at the elven prince, mischief gleaming in his grey eyes.   
"I see that I was wrong!" he exclaimed, apparently greatly surprised. "It was most irresponsible of me to call the Wood-elves ignorant! That was a highly accurate observation, of the likes as no one has been able to…"   
  
His sentence was interrupted when Glorfindel suddenly appeared at their side, managing to make that movement appear completely nonchalant and random. Their horses were still carrying them down the path which appeared as dark as night now that the sun was setting, and the trees that were standing left and right of it looked as black as dark stone.   
  
"Don't look ahead," the blond elf began. "We are being watched."   
  
Aragorn looked at his old teacher, carefully avoiding scanning the trees ahead. He sensed more than saw how the other elves around him tensed almost imperceptibly, and even though only he and Elladan were looking at the golden haired elf directly, he knew that everyone's attention was fixed on Glorfindel now.   
  
"The thickets next to the road a few hundred yards ahead?" Elladan asked softly.   
  
The other elf nodded minutely.   
"Yes."   
  
"Orcs?"   
  
Another quick nod.   
  
"Does anyone know how many?" Aragorn asked quietly, his sword hand nervously fiddling with his blade's hilt. "What do we do? Turn back?"   
  
"About twenty or twenty-five, I think," Glorfindel answered curtly. "They're well-hidden, so it's hard to say. And no, we can't turn back."   
  
"It's a trap," Elrohir said quietly, anger beginning to emanate from his lithe form that he could barely keep off his face. "They planned this, damned be their black souls! They knew we would turn back and choose this road instead."   
  
"That wasn't too hard to guess," Elvynd shrugged calmly. "There are only two paths leading down into the valley from the North. They only had to block one and force us to use the other. I don't even think they have been waiting for us specifically."   
  
"Most likely not," Elladan agreed, shooting the thickets a quick look. If you knew what you were looking for, it was quite easy to spot the ambush. The branches of the trees and bushes swayed with more than just the wind, and some of the brambles were even trembling violently as something hiding behind them moved none-too-gently. "Still," he added darkly, "if they want to ambush us, they will have to deal with the consequences."   
  
"Remember what we promised _ada_, Elladan," Aragorn reminded his brother softly. He knew that look in Elladan's eyes; it usually spelt death and doom for any orc which crossed him.   
  
"We don't have a choice in that matter," Glorfindel said evenly. "The second group will be only a few minutes behind us. We can't turn back; we'll have to go through them."   
  
Elrohir grinned at his brother before he returned his attention to the blond elf lord.   
"Excellent."   
  
Glorfindel gave the younger elf an admonishing look. He looked at the thickets that were only about two hundred yards away now and finally returned his attention to the small group riding next to him. There were only four more guards with them, so with Elvynd, the twins, Aragorn, Prince Legolas and himself they were ten. He frowned darkly, all his thoughts focused on the predicament at hand. Not exactly what one would call wonderful odds, especially considering that there were most likely more orcs lurking at their backs.   
  
"Alright," he began insistently, "This is what we will do. We'll continue as normally as possible. As soon as we come into reach and can spot our targets, we'll try to cause as much confusion as we can – which shouldn't be too hard," he added with a poignant look at his lord's sons and their Silvan friend. "Use your bows. No one gets off his horse, understood? As long as we are on horseback, we have the advantage. Don't get involved in any heavy fighting; just try to break through as quickly as possible, and once you do, don't stop until you've reached the nearest guard post."   
  
He garnered small nods from his companions, most of them grim-looking and tense. Glorfindel sighed inwardly and squared his shoulders, giving the rather obvious trap in front of them a quick look. He had not been looking forward to this evening and him having to try and explain his recent behaviour to his friend and lord, but right now he would give almost anything to be already back at Rivendell. This was a plan born of desperation, and he could think of at least a dozen things that could go wrong. No, he corrected himself quickly. Make that two dozen.   
  
Aragorn, who was riding between Elladan and Legolas, was thinking just the same. There was an awful lot that could go wrong here – what if they were attacked before they had reached the thickets? What if there were more orcs than Glorfindel had thought, what if… With a small inward headshake he forced himself to abandon these thought. Glorfindel didn't make mistakes such as miscalculating the number of his opponents.  
  
Still, he went on a moment later, this was far too risky for his taste. What if they actually did…. His thoughts trailed off into nothing as he realised what had been bothering him the entire time, his eyes darting from the bushes that were only about twenty or thirty yards away to Glorfindel and back again. It was all very well to tell them to use their bows to kill as many orcs as possible before they could reach them, but who said that _they _didn't have bows as well?   
  
A moment later his attention was drawn back to the thicket to their left, and with unnatural clarity Aragorn realised that the rustling movement that had caught his eyes had in fact been caused by a black, dully gleaming arrowhead that had been pushed through the brambles. The young man felt how his heart froze in his chest. A Elbereth, please no…   
  
His paralysis lasted only a moment, and a second later he spun around to Glorfindel and his brothers, eyes wide and alarmed in his face and not at all caring if his shout told the orcs that they knew they were not alone.   
"Archers!!"   
  
He saw his brothers' heads shoot up at his shouted warning, but at the same time he realised that it was too late. The shrill shrieks of the orcs mixed with the unmistakable whistling of an arrow that cut through the air, and a moment later the black projectile hit the tall golden haired elf at the front in the chest, the impact propelling him backwards and causing his horse to whinny shrilly as it felt its master reel back.   
  
For a second, Glorfindel managed to remain on his horse, but then his fingers that had been holding onto his horse's mane loosened on their own account and he fell, tumbling from Asfaloth's back in a graceless tangle of long hair and flailing limbs.   
  
The elf's unconscious body hit the stony ground with a thud, and in the moment the world seemed to speed up again Aragorn decided that this had been a very, very bad plan indeed.

  
  
He hadn't known that so many things could go wrong at once, Legolas decided in a moment of stunned clarity. No more than twenty seconds had passed since Aragorn's futile warning, but already everything that possibly could have gone wrong had gone wrong – badly so.   
  
With a rather vicious curse that would surely have caused his tutors to hang their heads in despair the fair haired elf did the one thing everybody else seemed to have done already: He jumped off his snorting and stomping horse, almost right on top of two of the orcs that were crowding around his horse, shrieking something in their black language.   
  
He didn't understand what they were shouting (even though it wasn't too hard to guess), but the sound alone was enough to send a sharp stab of pain through his skull. He quickly shook his head and drew his knives with lightning speed, deciding that it didn't matter if he used his daggers instead of his bow, now that they had already done everything that Lord Glorfindel had told them not to do.   
  
Renewed fury pulsed through him, and with a movement too quick for the mortal eye to follow he brought the knives down onto the two orcs closest to him. For a moment, the two creatures' shrieks intensified before they fell to the ground, their black blood staining the stony ground a dark, muddy colour.   
  
The rest of the foul beings fell back, apparently surprised by their companions' surprising demise, and Legolas had a few moments to appraise the situation. He had been pushed almost to the edge of their group by the expected and yet absolutely unexpected attack, and most of his companions were clustered together to his left. Elvynd and his men were trying their best to push through the swarm of enemies to reach Aragorn and the twins, but up until now their endeavours had been in vain. Orcs might not be the brightest creatures on Arda, but even they knew that it was better to keep them separated.   
  
The elven prince's feelings of anger and self-reproach even intensified as the mass of orcs around the three brothers shifted for a moment, giving him the chance to actually see them and not only hear their voices. Aragorn and Elladan were on their feet, standing back to back with their swords drawn and cold fury on their faces. Between them Legolas could see Elrohir, who was kneeling next to Glorfindel's motionless body and was apparently frantically trying to stem the flow of blood that was beginning to colour the fallen elf's brown tunic an even darker colour.   
  
Neither the twins nor Aragorn seemed to be seriously injured, which was at least something, a sarcastic part of Legolas' mind noticed. Then again, he thought darkly, he didn't think that Lord Elrond would be overly pleased about having to patch up his seneschal, no matter whether or not his sons were uninjured for once.   
  
Legolas was brought out of his thoughts by a quick movement to his right, and without thinking he ducked and moved back a few steps. His instinctive movement was all that saved him from grievous injury or death, for a crudely made scimitar cut through the air where his head had been only moments ago. The orc wielding the weapon blinked stupidly while it tried to figure out where its prey had disappeared to, but its surprise didn't last for long since Legolas turned back around a moment later and brought down his knives in a wide, deadly arc. The blades buried themselves in the creature's chest, and a moment later it dropped to the ground, a look of surprise still visible on its hideous face.   
  
If Legolas had hoped that the orc's death would discourage the others in some degree, he soon found out that that was not the case. If anything, it only seemed to make the rest of the orcs madder and even more determined to try anything to kill him, and soon he found himself pushed back by the sheer number of his enemies.   
  
Legolas was still moving backwards, trying his best not to let any of the orcs come too close to him, when his back suddenly and very unexpectedly connected with something soft and definitely alive. For a single, horrible moment he thought he had just bumped into an orc that had somehow managed to sneak up on him, but then he realised that it was only his horse. The animal was snorting and lashing out at anything that was not elven and had thus managed to keep the orcs at bay, and for a quick second Legolas took his eyes off his adversaries to make sure his mount was well and able to hold its own.   
  
It most definitely was, he decided a moment later, but when he turned back to his opponents he realised that the moment of distraction would cost him dearly. He was still in the process of turning his head when a clawed, dirty-grey fist appeared in his line of vision, wrapped around what looked like a sword hilt. A small part of him was still wondering where it had come from when the pommel of the scimitar connected with the side of his head, throwing his senses into almost complete chaos.   
  
A sudden roaring noise filled his ears, sounding remarkably like a river or the sea which Ossë had stirred up in his wrath. Blinding white light appeared in front of his eyes, and only the sharp pain in his knees told him that he had lost his footing and fallen to the ground. He felt as if he was slowly being carried away by a strong current, and for long moments he couldn't remember why it had seemed important to fight against unconsciousness anyway. To simply give in and let himself be carried away to a place where he could sleep as long as he wanted had never before held this much appeal, and the mere idea of trying to resist further was…   
  
"Legolas!!"   
  
The fair haired elf frowned inwardly, needing a few moments to decide whether or not that was indeed his name. He finally came to a favourable decision and wrecked his brain to try and find out who could possibly have shouted his name overly loudly and had therefore prevented him from letting go and getting the rest his body so desperately needed. Half a second later something clicked in his head, and with sickening clarity he realised what was going on.   
  
The ambush. Glorfindel's motionless body, lying on the floor with a thick, evil-looking arrow in his chest. The orc's fist, slamming into his temple and sending him to his knees. Aragorn's voice, screaming his name and sounding on the edge of a full-blown panic. Oh the Valar, why did every single one of their expeditions have to end like _this_?   
  
With an enormous act of will, Legolas forced his very uncooperative eyelids open, only to realise that he might just have been better off if he had kept them shut. Usually he preferred knowing what was going to happen to uncertainty, but right now he was willing to make an exception because there were definitely things worse than ignorance. Namely, a rather wry part of him noted amusedly, seeing an orc standing over you with its scimitar held high above its head, its face contorted with glee and hatred and speaking of its firm intent and desire to bring it down onto your body.   
  
There was no time to get out of way, Legolas knew that as firmly and certainly as if someone had written it on the orc's forehead in bold black letters. He couldn't have tethered on the brink of unconsciousness for much more than a few seconds, but it had been enough time for the orcs to close in on him. Not even if he had been able to move as fast as usual he could had saved himself, which was no consolation at all now that he thought about it.   
  
The thought that his father would be really angry if he heard about this hadn't even fully constituted in his mind when a dark green and grey blur slammed into the leering orc from behind, almost knocking the creature into the still kneeling elf. The two bodies missed Legolas by inches, the orc shrieking with shock and indignation while it tried to shake the young ranger off who was stubbornly clinging to his back.   
  
The man's desperate action helped Legolas to regain his bearings, and it took him only a few moments to force the weakness and light-headedness back and to climb back to his feet. Sweeping up his knives he had unknowingly dropped to the floor earlier, Legolas righted himself, deciding inwardly that, if Aragorn had wanted to distract most of the orcs, he had definitely succeeded. Many of the fell beasts were staring at the ranger who was still not letting go of the orc who was currently rather busy trying to gut him – a situation that Elvynd and the other guards were exploiting to the fullest. They renewed their attempts to reach their two young lords' sides, and there were no more than five or six orcs separating them from their goal now.   
  
Legolas quickly returned his attention to the orcs in front of him and kicked out with a leg, sending one of them crashing backwards into two of its companions. The three creatures went down with angry, hissing curses, and Legolas whirled around to help his human friend who had just saved him from decapitation or a similarly deadly fate.   
  
He squinted slightly, the dancing shadows which the last, weak rays of the sun cast onto the man and his opponent not helping in the slightest to distinguish between the two of them. Legolas hesitated for a second, not wishing to harm his friend instead of the orc, but all uncertainty disappeared from his mind in a second as he heard a strangled, pain-filled and most definitely human scream. The two combatants shifted slightly, and Legolas watched with anger burning hotly in his heart how the orc wrenched its blade out of the man's side, most likely doing its best to cause as much additional damage as possible.   
  
It took the elf only half a second to shift his grip on his knife from hilt to blade as he forgot all the things that had stopped him from interfering in the fight until now. Neither the chance that he might hit his friend if the orc moved slightly nor the fact that his knife had not been designed as a throwing knife mattered anymore, and another second later the blade had left his hand and burrowed itself in the orc's back.   
  
Legolas was at his friend's side with two long strides, falling to his knees next to him and praying that he had interpreted Elladan's enraged shout correctly, namely meaning that he and the others would cover them as long as possible. They shouldn't have too many problems, Legolas reasoned while he wrenched his knife out of the orc's back and began to push it off the young man on whom it had collapsed. There weren't too many orcs left now and the others were experienced warriors, they shouldn't be too hard-pressed to…   
  
All such thoughts faded from the elf's mind when he finally managed to push the surprisingly heavy body of the orc to the side. The body he thus exposed was far too still and motionless for his taste, and for a horrible moment he thought that he had been too late and Aragorn's wound had been fatal. A moment later he shook himself out of his trance and reached out to touch the young man, all the sounds of the battle fading into unimportance for now. In the moment he touched Aragorn, however, the man's closed eyes flew open and he grasped his hand in a steely grip, apparently thinking himself to be still in danger.   
  
Legolas couldn't help but start grinning at this obvious proof that Aragorn had only been stunned for a few seconds when the orc had collapsed on top of him, but the mirth faded quickly from his face as he saw the blood soaking through his human friend's dark green shirt. Not having the time to reassure the man, he quickly reached out and tried to pry Aragorn's other hand away from the wound, forcing himself to ignore the pain that was easily visible on the young ranger's face at that action.   
  
"Let me see," he told the man insistently, chancing a glance at their surroundings to make sure that Elvynd, Elladan and the others were still keeping the orcs at bay. "Let me _ see_, reckless human."   
  
"Ha!" Aragorn ground out, teeth firmly clenched to suppress the pain that the elf's gently probing hands awoke in the wound. "Who … is the reckless one, hm? Idiot."   
  
"Hmph. Look who's talking," Legolas retorted, feeling how a strange cold began to spread inside of him as he exposed the man's injury.   
  
The orc's scimitar had cut deeply through the skin and muscle of Aragorn's left side, just above his hipbone. Blood was flowing freely from the wound, and past the cut and torn muscle the elf could see something gleaming white that had to be bone. It appeared that the blade had got stuck there, causing the orc to pull it back out.   
  
Legolas was no healer, but he had seen enough wounds to know one thing: This was bad. This was even very bad.   
  
"We need to get you back to Rivendell," he told the man and hurriedly shrugged out of his over shirt, knowing that they didn't have the time to properly bandage this wound. He pressed it hard against the bleeding wound, ignoring the young man's barely muffled sound of pain. He tried to fasten it as best as he could and gave the white-faced ranger a forced grin. "Your father will kill you, you know that."   
  
"Oh yes," Aragorn retorted, his voice strained and dark with pain. "And then he will … behind you!!"   
  
Without doubt or hesitation Legolas rolled to the side, cursing himself for allowing himself to get so completely immersed in what he was doing. A second later he was back on his feet and whirled around, coming face to face with the orc Aragorn had seen sneaking up on them. For a heartbeat, elf and orc merely stared at each other, and once again Legolas marvelled at the hatred he saw in the creature's yellow eyes, the same hatred that was reflected in the eyes of every single one of its wretched kind every time they saw one of the Firstborn.   
  
Legolas knew of course what they said about the origins of the orcish race, knew that, long ago before the Darkening of Valinor, their ancestors had been the same. He knew that the orcs had come into existence through torment and darkness which captured elves had had to endure in the depths of Morgoth's dungeons in Utumno, but right now he didn't care in the slightest.   
  
Without even thinking the elf's hand shot out, bringing up his dagger in an arc that would nearly have taken the other being's head off. The orc hissed something at him, its voice full of anger and spite, but managed to block the blow just in time. The dark creature jumped back, obviously trying to draw the elf away from the fallen ranger, but Legolas was having none of it. If his mood had been bad before, it was positively abysmal now. First Glorfindel, now Aragorn – enough was enough.   
  
Before the orc had even time to blink, Legolas had moved forward, eyes hard and steely and dark with more than just annoyance. The brightly gleaming steel of a blade cut through the air, moving so swiftly that it was hardly more than a silver blur, and a moment later the orc fell to the ground with its throat cut neatly from ear to ear. The fair haired elf didn't even give his fallen opponent a second glance before he turned back around to his human friend who was still lying on the ground, hands clapped tightly over his wounded side.   
  
After making sure that Aragorn was safe for the moment, he turned back, his eyes seeking out the twins and the others, and what he saw made his blood run cold. Elvynd and his men hadn't managed to break through to them completely, and had in turn been separated themselves. The young dark haired captain and two of his men were fighting close to the twins and Glorfindel, while the remaining two had been pushed back down the path. There weren't more than three or four orcs left now, but instead of feeling relieved dread was beginning to spread inside of Legolas, and that was mainly because of one thing: The second troupe of orcs had caught up with them.   
  
Legolas' eyes widened slightly as he saw the horde of at least thirty additional orcs at his companions' back, only half a minute away now. They might be able to eliminate the orcs here before the main force arrived, but there was no way they would get out of this together, not with two seriously injured people and outnumbered at least four to one.   
  
The elven prince pressed his lips together as he came to a decision and sprung forward, reaching Aragorn's side in an instant. Without pausing to heed his friend's sounds of pain he grabbed the man's arm and dragged him to his feet, whirling back to the others a moment later.   
  
"Elladan!" he called in Elvish. "We have to split up! We can't fight our way out of here!"   
  
The older twin looked up from where he was wrenching his sword out of the body of a fallen orc and quickly surveyed his surroundings, coming to the same conclusion Legolas had reached a few moments ago. Without wasting time he nodded into Legolas' direction and grabbed his brother's arm, motioning him to get the motionless elf he was still tending to his feet.   
  
"Go," he called to Elvynd and his men. "Get to the next guard post. We will meet in the valley. Hurry!"   
  
The dark haired captain hesitated for a moment, apparently loath to leave his lord's sons alone, but then he too saw that they didn't have any other choice. He nodded at the two warriors that were still fighting a couple of orcs a little further back, and only half a second later the two of them disappeared between the trees as soundlessly as wraiths in the night.   
  
"Go, my lords," he called to Elladan and his brother who were trying to move as quickly as they could with the unconscious elf lord between them. "Take the first horse you find and get him to Lord Elrond. We will follow you."   
  
For a moment, it appeared that Elrohir wanted to protest, but then he inclined his head and they also disappeared from sight. Legolas didn't waste any time trying to see which way they had taken and grabbed Aragorn's arm a little more tightly, trying to support as much of his friend's weight as possible and not even wanting to think about what these quick movements would most likely do to his wound. He cast a quick look around, looking for his horse, and finally spotted it to their far right, close to the approaching orcs. The animal was at least forty yards away – forty yards that were littered with orc corpses – and by the time they would have reached it, the orcs would have arrived to cut them into tiny little pieces.   
  
Giving an inward curse, Legolas turned back around and began to hurry over to the thicket to his left that was shadowed by dark, towering trees.   
"Can you run, Aragorn?"   
  
"If … the necessity should … arise," the young man gasped out, his face chalky-white and his lips pressed tightly together.   
  
"Trust me," Legolas said wryly and sped up his hurried walk. "It just has. Run!"   
  
The dark haired ranger clenched his teeth and moved as quickly as he could, doing his best to ignore the pain that was pulsing through him with every step. The shrieks of the orcs behind them grew louder and louder still, and just when he was certain that they would surely be caught, they reached the trees and disappeared between their thick trunks.   
  
Legolas breathed a sigh of relief as the soft whispering of the trees surrounded them, but didn't pause in the slightest. He continued as quickly as his companion could move, and after what felt like an eternity the shouts and sounds of pursuits had faded and were not even audible for one blessed with elven hearing.   
  
He still pressed on, his thoughts going round in his head so fast that he was beginning to feel dizzy – which, however, might also have been connected with the blow to the head he had received earlier. This was not good, he ranted inwardly, not good at all. He didn't know these parts very well; all he knew was essentially that you kept away from the Far North if you valued your life. He was willing to bet that the orcs knew this region better than he did, and the one person who could have told him where to go was hanging barely conscious in his arms.   
  
No, he continued furiously, this was _not good_. It was night, their pursuers could therefore move about as they pleased, and in the dark their senses rivalled his. They were moving farther and farther away from Rivendell and safety, and if they turned, they would be caught. He had no idea if there were any caves or shelter of any other kind nearby, Aragorn was getting ever closer to losing consciousness and he had no healing supplies or even a couple of bandages. Elbereth, no, not good.   
  
Legolas tightened his hold on his semiconscious friend and gave him a quick look, wincing openly when he saw how pale the man was. His skin looked almost translucent in the pale moonlight, and there was a cold sweat beading his brow. Even more than that, however, Legolas was frightened by the blood he could feel between his fingers, the dark red fluid that still flowed from the wound in the man's side.   
  
"Not much further now, _mellon nín_," he murmured softly, even though he had told his friends these words so often in the past two hours that they had long lost their meaning to him. "You can rest soon."   
  
It wasn't clear if Aragorn had heard him or not, but finally he gave a small, almost imperceptible nod that Legolas' sharp eyes almost missed in the darkness. Feeling slightly heartened by this sign of the man's awareness, small as it may be, he looked up, trying to find something that might give them shelter this night. Finally his eyes came to rest on a large beech tree that looked comfortable enough, and even though he knew what Aragorn thought about sleeping in trees he began to steer them over to it.   
  
It took them longer to reach the beech than it should have, but in the end they managed to cover the short distance, Legolas now carrying more or less all of his human friend's weight. As carefully as he could the elven prince lowered the man to the forest floor before he took a step back and surveyed the tree more closely. The first branches that would be able to support Aragorn's weight and were thick enough so that the man wouldn't fall off immediately were at least ten feet above the ground, but that didn't worry him overly much. He would manage to get the ranger up there, but he would need space to tend his injuries and wouldn't be able to rely on the fact that Aragorn was aware enough to cling to a branch or even keep still.   
  
The elf sighed inwardly, exhaustion from the fight and the constant worry for Aragorn and the others beginning to well up inside of him. He would need to build a makeshift _talan _if he didn't want Aragorn to topple off a branch as soon as they had reached it. To build a flet wouldn't be a problem; he had built them ever since he had been old enough to climb a tree. He and his friends had even had a little competition for a few dozen years, about which of them could build a _talan _the quickest. More often than not, he had won these little games, but Celylith had beaten him frequently. Glónduil, however, had ever been hopeless.   
  
With another inward curse that wished all orcs ever spawned down into the pits of Angband where they belonged he crouched down in front of his friend who hadn't moved an inch since Legolas had helped him sit down. Renewed worry gnawing at him, Legolas reached out and placed a hand against the man's cheek, trying to tell himself that the heat he felt there was because of the strenuous walk here and not because of some sort of fever.   
  
"Aragorn?" he asked softly. "Aragorn, can you hear me? Estel!" He waited a few seconds, and just when he thought that the man must have lost consciousness Aragorn's eyelids slowly opened, revealing darkened silver eyes glazed with pain and confusion. "Estel, can you hear me? Answer me!"   
  
"Yes," the man muttered after some failed attempts to speak. "What … where…"   
  
"North of Rivendell," Legolas answered curtly, quickly checking the soaked makeshift bandage that was still fastened about the man's middle. "Your brothers got away safely, don't worry," he anticipated the man's next question.   
  
"Glorfindel?" Aragorn asked weakly.   
  
Legolas pressed his lips together and briefly considered lying in order not to upset the human, but finally answered truthfully.  
  
"I do not know," he admitted softly. "He was alive when I saw him last, but that is all I can tell you." Aragorn didn't give any indication that he had heard the elf's words, but Legolas continued, unwilling to stay here on the ground any longer than they had to. "Aragorn, I have to scout the area and gather some wood to build a _talan_; we need to hide properly before I can look after your wound. I want you to stay here and not move a single muscle, do you understand? The bushes here should cover you well enough, and as long as you don't move, no one should see you. I will be back soon. Do you hear me?"   
  
The man nodded slowly without opening his eyes again, and Legolas reached out and briefly squeezed his shoulder.   
"I'll be back as soon as I can. Be safe."   
  
Aragorn slowly opened his eyes and gave the elf something that was probably meant to be a smile.   
"Don't worry. If … if someone comes, I will pretend to be a bush."   
  
"That is well, then," Legolas smiled back. "Your hair always looks as if birds are nesting in it anyway. All but the most attentive observers will be fooled."   
  
The elf grinned at the indignant look that flittered over his friend's face and got back to his feet, and in a matter of seconds he had disappeared between the dark trees. He did, however, regret this course of action, and rather soon at that. Only a few hundred yards away from the large beech tree he all but ran into a landslide that was so big that Legolas suspected half of the hill to his left had come down sometime during the last heavy rainfall.   
  
Knowing full well how much orcs and goblins liked to hide in such an environment he began to search every single square inch of the landslide, which took far longer than he would have liked. After he was sufficiently satisfied that there were no orcs or any other foul beings hidden here, he continued moving around their future camp in a wide arc, finally returning to the beech tree where he had left Aragorn.   
  
The elf gave the dark, starry sky a quick look, realising that it had taken him more than an hour to scout the area. Searching the landslide in the darkness had taken far longer than he had thought, and worry once again began to rise inside of him. He hadn't meant to leave the man alone for so long; what if the wound had reopened? What if Aragorn had bled the whole time while he had been turning over stones in the mud?   
  
Legolas shook his head quickly as he stepped out of the shadow of the trees around him and walked over to the beech, his eyes wandering over the thick bushes surrounding the trunk.   
"I am sorry, Estel," he said softly as he rounded the tree, "I didn't mean to take this long. There was a landslide; it looks as if most of a hill simply crumbled during that rainstorm a few days ago and…"   
  
Three paces later the elf stopped as if he had run into an invisible wall, his body coming to a full stop in less than a second. His eyes widened in shock as he realised that he was alone, and that Aragorn was nowhere to be seen.

  
  
  
  
  
**TBC...**

  
  
  
  
  
_muindor nín - my brother (as opposed to 'gwador' or 'gwanur'; I don't think that the twins would call Aragorn 'sworn brother' ('gwador') since they so often insist that he is their 'real' brother, human or not)  
ada - father (daddy)  
mellyn nín (pl.) - my friends  
mellon nín (sg.) - my friend  
talan - flet, wooden platform in the trees_

  
  
  
  
**Ah yes, I think the reckless human is quite unable to actually heed orders. shakes head sadly One of these days, he's going to get into a lot of trouble this way... evil grin Then again, it might happen sooner than expected! Be that as it may, I'll try to post the next chapter on Thursday, if I can find enough time. Reviews always help, just like this time! So: Review? Yes please! g**

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**Additional A/N:**

**Crippled Raven ** - It's a miracle you remembered it! I mentioned it only once, after all, so well done! g Indeed, what's up with Glorfindel ... we'll find out, in chapter 5 I'm afraid. You'll have to wait a little. LOL, I don't know if Aragorn mistook Legolas for Barbie, even though I have to admit that it's a definite possibility! evil grin The hair and all that...  
**Jazmin3 Firewing** - Well, yes, all I can say is that I am VERY glad that you're NOT a medieval doctor. Somehow I don't think that Glorfindel would be very pleased if someone tried to put some leeches on him or something like that... g Talking to Elrond sounds a lot better. But hey, did you really expect our favourite reborn elf lord to do the obvious or reasonable thing? Nah, I didn't think so. g  
**Deana** - It all depends on how exactly you define "angst", I think. If you interpret it as worry and physical pain, then yes, there will be lots of angst. There will be more emotional problems and pain for Aragorn and Glorfindel, though, sorry. It's Marbienl's story, after all. apologetic smile  
**Tmelange** - Uhm, well, thank you! It's nice to hear that you liked the first chapter, and I hope you'll enjoy the rest as well! Thanks for the review!  
**CSI3** - As I said in the A/N, I WILL write a sequel, but not for some time. There is this evil college paper I have to write first, and about a thousand other things that just won't go away. So, I guess I'll start posting sometime after the 20th. Sorry for the dealy.  
**Alasse Tiwele** - blinks Do you have any idea how fast posting every four days is? For me, that's close to phenomenal! I hope you didn't mind waiting for a few days, though. I know how annoying it can be when people don't update on time! g Thank you very much, btw. It's always great to hear that my English isn't all that bad. My first language is German, and my second is Latin, even though that doesn't really count, I think. I can read but not speak it, after all. g  
**Marbienl** - I had been suspecting something like that, to be honest. Don't worry though, I wouldn't mind if you really WERE using a voodoo doll or something like that. My mother and sister are constantly casting spells and generally pretend to be witches. It can be quite annoying. g Oh, you know the original version of Braveheart? I like the movie, a lot to be honest, but Mel Gibson's accent! My God, it's so horrible! shudders It's a miracle that the Scottish actors didn't kill him on the spot... Thanks for asking, the paper is finished and is currently being marked. I don't think it's going to be very good, since I didn't find a lot of original sources I could quote, but what the heck. It's over. g You still believe that stuff about balling your fists to prevent catching a cold? You really ARE strange... Don't worry about the carving though, it's going to be fine. Elrond would strangle Legolas, after all... g Great to hear that you're enjoying this so far! huggles  
**Just Jordy** - Whoah, calm down, it's okay. You don't have to review every single chapter - even though that would be very appreciated. g The most important thing is that you're enjoying the story. Sorry about Anardir though. He was doomed from the start, I fear... pats Anardir's head  
**Lindahoyland** - Finally, someone who is actually telling me what I'm doing wrong! Thank you, I mean it! I will try to keep your corrections in mind, but there are - unfortunately - a few things I'll never learn, I fear. I will do my best though, and one of these days I will manage to post a chapter without a single mistake! When I'm about 85 or something like that... g Anyway, thanks a lot for pointing these things out, and thanks for taking the time to review!  
**Elvendancer** - You are right, you know. If Elrond actually learned to listen to his inner voice, all of us would miss a lot of fun... evil grin Poor elves and rangers. In the end, they're all still alive - most of the time, of course. There are exceptions... cackles evilly  
**Snow-Glory** - It's nice to hear that you're enjoying this so far, even though I don't think Aragorn laughed when Legolas pured the water over him. shrugs I don't know why either. Thanks a lot for reviewing - again!  
**Pyro** - Yeah, we all love Númenor, don't we? At least I do. LOL, doos question, who is going to be turned into a chewtoy? I think that's quite hard to say actually - most of them. Or all of them, I'm not quite sure yet... g  
**Ellyrianna** - So I've made you happy, huh? Glad to be of service! There is indeed going to be quite a lot of angst and pain and all that in here, so don't worry. And I even think that there's quite a bit of it in this chapter, so you can enjoy your time in Mexiko, knowing that Aragorn is suffering... g I have to admit though that I've never heard of "Tuck Everlasting". Did I miss anything? I don't know if I read that story, but the title reminds me of something. Maybe I have read it, must have been some time ago though. Is it a parody? I think I remember something like that...  
**TrinityTheSheDevil** - LOL, no, that didn't sound right at all. It sounded rather weird, but I'll ignore it. g I really hope you're not spending your day waiting for the author alert though. That would be quite scary. g  
**Silvertoekee** - What can I say, I'm trying to keep to the canon as closely as possible. I hate all these fics where the authors simply claim something entirely ridiculous because they didn't check it out first. I love those "an elf (not Elrond/Eärendil/ElwingArwen/the twins) gives up his/her immortality for a man/woman stories". Hello? They can't! CAN'T!!! takes a deep breath Sorry, sometimes they get too much. g To answer your question: They will get into a LOT of trouble. But you already knew that, I guess. g  
**Uineniel** - Yes, the sentence structure is my main nemesis at the moment. I don't have much trouble with the grammar or the vocabulary, but sometimes I know that a sentence sounds odd and I just don't know how to correct it. sighs There are some things I will never learn, I think. And of course Glorfindel is a very nice elf! I love him, which is why he's in this fic! huggles elf lord I don't think he's overly happy about being here, though... g Thanks a lot for the review!  
**Tychen** - LOL, yes, I love torturing the "Dynamic Four". It's their own fault - why are they so adorable, after all? g You're right, Elrond should have been called "Estel" instead of Aragorn. I think it's the only way he's remained sane until now... I hope today is alright and not too late? I really couldn't make it any sooner...  
**Grumpy** - Great you liked the flowers. The twins and Legolas would most probably not agree, but still... g Ah yes, what is Glorfindel's problem... We'll find out soon. In chapter 5, so that's another two weeks or so. Not long. g Thanks for reviewing!  
**LOTRFaith** - Don't worry, the twins and Co. aren't THAT blind. They might not see certain doom even if it's tapping them on the shoulder, but they've noticed that something's bothering poor Glorfindel. Not that it would help much, of course... g  
**HarryEstel** - Thank you! It's nice to hear that you've enjoyed the last chapter; I hope you'll like the rest as well! Thanks a lot for the review!  
**Gwyn** - I love the dear golden haired elf as well, even though I have to admit that I'm not really into slash. There are quite a lot of good stories and wonderful slash authors out there, but most of the time I find the plots so unlikely (and that means a lot, coming from me! g) that I just can't take the fics seriously. shrugs Ah well. But I agree that he needs a bit of angst now and then. Everybody does, doesn't he? g  
**Aratfeniel** - I think you're right, you know. He has tried to escape me at least a dozen times now - I really don't know why! I thought he'd be happy to get a little bit of attention now and then... shakes head Males.   
**Nietta** - Yeah, well, five chapters IS short for me. I had loads of trouble not to write six or more! I know, I know, I'm pathetic and/or insane... g LOL, you're right of course, all Glorfindel needs is a hug! Maybe I should tell Elrond ... nah, it'll be more fun this way... evil grin Oh, one thing: In your last review for TWIN you suggested that I let Aragorn and Cendan meet again when Aragorn is King of Gondor. As much as I'd like to do that, it won't be possible, since that's about 65 years from now - Cendan would be dead or about 90 years old. g It was a good idea, though.  
**Vampy2k** - It's very flattering that you've been waiting for this story, thanks a lot! It's always great to hear that some people enjoy my weird little stories... g And you are so right, Poor Estel. He's really not a very lucky person, is he? evil grin  
**Gozilla** - Thanks! It's nice to hear that you're enjoying this so far! Thanks a lot for the review!  
**Kathleen LaCorneille** - You have internet access now? Congratulations! I know how horrible it is not to have internet access at home ... I am usually going crazy by day four. g I think the twins and Legolas aren't all that happy that Aragorn painted a few flowers on their weapons though. Don't ask me why - they're weird. g Glad you liked the squirrels, too. They can be vicious little beasts, believe me! LOL, yes, you're right, of course Estel will be hurt. This is MARBIENL's Birthday story, after all. g And Glorfindel isn't exactly angry at Elrond, he's just ... well, you'll have to wait a bit to find out, sorry! Thanks a lot for the long review!  
**Maranwe1** - LOL, yes, I laughed too when I realised that "To Walk in Night" is TWIN. g You people and your abbreviations... As I said in the A/N, the sequel to TWIN (snickers) will be here in a month or a something like that. I hope. g It's wonderful if you could find only a few mistakes. It's far better than getting a metre-long list every chapter... And I totally agree, btw. I wouldn't be very happy if someone poured ice-cold water over me, but I guess that you would spend most of your life not speaking or moving if you're living with the twins. I have the nasty suspicion that this wasn't the first little ... joke they played on their poor innocent little brother... g Your review was far from awful, and I hope that you and your mother have worked things out!   
**Radbooks** - Trust me, you can't overwhelm my inbox. It's rather big, and I think I've never even needed more than 15 % of it or something. But it was very considerate of you, thanks! g I'm sorry for putting "your Glorfindel" through so much pain ... no, wait, I don't really think I am. evil grin But it's not my fault, it's Marbienl's, at least in a way. Thank you very much for your wonderful review! huggles  
**Enigma Jade** - g Well, it's nice to see that some people enjoy Glorfindel angst! I have become rather fond of it myself while writing this, to be honest... g And I agree: Poor Elrond. I really think he'll go insane one of these days.. pats elf lord's head Poor elf.  
**Katie** - LOL! That's a good one! Elrond kicked Glorfindel's puppy... giggles I really fell off my chair when I read that... But you are right, of course, the hunting party will get into loads of trouble. Who'd have thought? evil grin  
**Nikara** - I really, honestly don't know. It's in AEFAE, mainly in chapter 18 and 21, I think, but I'm not really sure. It's been a long time, I'm afraid... If you really want to know, I can look it up though.   
**Cosmic Castaway** - Well, IF you decide to draw it, I demand that you send me a copy of the picture! I would love to see what you come up with... g I imagine they could say that, though. I think they know that going anywhere together will almost certainly end in doom and pain and blood. They can't be so naive to expect anything else after all, can they? Here's the next chapter, so don't even think about trying to punish me! I have a pet balrog and I'm not afraid to use it! g  
**Zinnith** - You've got yourself a summer job? Congratulations! It's almost impossible to get anything here, so be assured that I am very jealous of you! g I'm glad you like "my" Glorfindel, though, thanks for saying it! I think he's rather hard to write, even harder than Erestor. shrugs Sometimes I really have problems with the two of them. And I have to tell you that your guess isn't all that bad! The only thing is that Eärendil was seven years old when Gondolin was destroyed, and I guess that Elrond wouldn't be too happy if he reminded Glorfindel of a seven-years-old child. g But it's close, very close! Congrats! Glad to hear that you like trolls. I'm more into balrogs myself, but I can see the advantages a pet troll would have. g I hope your shoulder is better now, and thanks a lot for the long review!  
**KLMeri** - No, Glorfindel is indeed not thinking straight at the moment. At least not entirely straight. I'll shut up now before this begins to sound really wrong... g And you're right, he won't have that talk right away - but that's not really his fault, is it... No, of course not. Poor Glorfindel. pats his head   
**Galadhriel Vornionien** - Well, and here I thought elves were patient as a rule ... it appears that I was wrong... evil grin And to answer your questions: I am trying to post the last chapter on Thursday in a week, since I am going to visit my friends in England once again. I'll try to finish this story before then, but with my college paper I can't make any promises yet. But it should be doable - it's only five chapters long, after all. I hope so, anyway. g  
**Emiri-chan** - blushes Well ... thank you! I am very glad you liked it so far, and if you want to, you may indeed write that vignette. I have no intention - or time, I'm afraid - of doing it myself. Glorfindel is indeed rather depressed at the moment, poor elfsie that he is. And I don't try to make all these jokes, I just can't help myself. Every time I try to write an entirely serious scene they just appear, no matter how hard I try. It's rather disconcerting to say the least - I can't control my story or my cahracters. shakes head That's rather pathetic, isn't it? But I admire people who can write such scenes, so if you managed to write something without inappropriate humour: Congrats! Well done! Thank you very much for the long, funny review! huggles  
  
**As always: Thank you very much! I love and cherish every one of your reviews - I'm serious, people. I really do, very much so. ****g **


	3. Huge Problems

** Disclaimer: ** For full disclaimer, please see chapter 1.  
  
  
**A/N:  
  
It WAS only a little cliffy. I don't care what you say, it wasn't all that bad. pauses and then starts to grin evilly The one coming up at the end of this chapter is worse, after all. Trust me.   
  
I have to admit, however, that Glorfindel is really having a bad day. His plan wasn't all that great after all, and there is also the small matter of the arrow that is still sticking out of his chest. You are right, Elrond is NOT going to be very pleased. Yet another Midyear's Day his sons and seneschal managed to ruin for him... g   
  
It's also nice to know that you like Elvynd. You don't have to worry about him, though, I promise I won't kill him in this story. I still need him and his persuasive friend Isál for "A **** Sea of Troubles". They are one of the sub-plots, something about which they aren't all that happy. shrugs I really have no idea why not. So, no need to found an "ELF"! I'm having more than enough problems with the CLF already, thanks a lot... evil look at Firsarnien  
  
  
Alright, enough of that, here is chapter 3! In which we find out just whereto that reckless human has disappeared, Elrond comes to the conclusion that letting anyone go anywhere is generally a bad idea and Legolas has a brilliant plan which doesn't ... really ... work. evil grin Surprises all around, eh?  
  
Have fun and review, please!**

* * *

  
  
Chapter 3  
  
  
This was a hallucination, Legolas thought after a moment. He closed his eyes, a part of him firmly convinced that when he opened them again Aragorn would reappear in a small flash of white light. He slowly opened first one, then the other eye, but there was neither a light nor any other sign of the dark haired man.   
  
Of course there wasn't, the elf reasoned darkly while he still stared incredulously at the trunk of the tree against which Aragorn had been leaning only an hour ago. The man hadn't been in any shape to go anywhere, and he seriously doubted that he had acquired the ability to vanish into thin air at will.   
  
The elf crouched down in front of the tree, his eyes wandering desperately over the dark bark. Where in the name of the One had that man gone? He hadn't had the strength to move far, not in his present condition, and that left only one possibility: He hadn't walked away from here. He had been taken.   
  
But by whom? He had been so sure that they had lost their pursuers, that there was no orc still on their trail, who could possibly… The elf's thoughts trailed off as a sliver of moonlight managed to penetrate the thick canopy of the tree, shedding a sickly silver light onto the scenery. There was blood glistering on the bark of the beech, the dark crimson in stark contrast to the olive-green colour of the tree.   
  
Legolas would have liked to hit himself, and only the seriousness of the situation stopped him from actually doing it. _Of course _there was blood on the bark, such things had been known to happen when a seriously injured, bleeding person was leaning against something. The fair haired elf's self-critical thoughts were interrupted when his gaze fell on another, faintly hand-shaped dark red mark on the tree, a few inches away from the other large crimson streak.   
  
This looked as if Aragorn had placed a hand against the tree, as if trying to stand up … but why would he do that? Not even he was that stupid, and the man's knowledge of the healing arts which was far superior to his should have informed him that standing up with a wound such as his was at least a dubious course of action, if not a positively idiotic one. No, Legolas concluded, feeling as if a giant hand had grasped his heart and had begun to squeeze it mercilessly, Aragorn wouldn't have done that – that was, not unless he hadn't had any other choice.   
  
Why the man hadn't had any other choice but to leave his hiding spot became quickly apparent. Legolas followed the trail the man had left and which spoke of the bad state of health Aragorn had been in, for even though he was one of the Second People, he never left such an obvious trail. After about thirty feet of following broken twigs and upturned pebbles and increasingly large drops of blood which even increased the fear in Legolas' heart, he reached a small clearing that wasn't really more than a few grassy yards surrounding a large tree.   
  
In general, Legolas wasn't an elf who was prone to panicking. He had fought in many battles against orcs, men, goblins, spiders and various other creatures and had seen a lot of things in his long life, but there had been few sights that had plunged him into such a mindless panic as the one that presented itself to him now.   
  
The small clearing looked as if a particularly strong storm had hit it not too long ago, after which a horde of particularly ill-tempered orcs had shown up and smashed everything that had somehow managed to stay in one piece. For a moment, Legolas was simply stunned, because no matter what he might have been expecting, this sight had not been among the things for which he had been prepared. Which wasn't necessarily a bad thing, a wry voice inside his head murmured, especially considering that he had been half-expecting to find Aragorn's lifeless corpse, but…   
  
This train of thought was cut off abruptly when Legolas saw two things, almost at exactly the same time. Both of them were enough to make sure that he lost the last bit of his composure, and for a second he wasn't sure which one was actually worse. Neither, he decided a moment later numbly, since they both had "Harbinger of Doom" written on them so clearly that only a blind person could have missed it.   
  
The first thing he noticed was that he was standing in the middle of a gigantic footstep, something he was realising only now. There were more all over the place, all of them seeming to lead over to the tree from the northern side of the clearing where there were the fewest trees. Some, however, also seemed to come from between the trees to his right, where he could see a couple of young oak saplings that had been crushed by a single footstep, and all of them were criss-crossing each other, leading around the tree and over to the bushes surrounding it. Most of them were too unclear and indistinct to make out clearly, but Legolas was sure that he could see the impressions of dull claws around at least some of them.   
  
The other thing he saw was at least as bad – no, it was worse, far worse. To the left of the tree, where the ground was churned up the worst, lay Aragorn's sword, half-buried in the loose soil. The blade's silvery gleam was dulled by patches of dark blood that clung to the metal, only adding to the desolate air that hung over the tiny clearing.   
  
Legolas slowly began to walk over to the sword, feeling suddenly very calm. It was clear what had happened here, almost as clear as if someone had left a written note. There was only one race in Middle-earth that left this kind of destruction in its wake, only one race that was big and vicious enough to stomp a young tree into the ground with one step: Trolls.   
  
For a moment, irrational laughter began to rise inside of him. How in the name of all the Valar did Aragorn do it?! It should be impossible for one person, be he man, elf, dwarf or otherwise, to get into this much trouble in so little time! Trolls! Whatever would be next?!   
  
He didn't really want to know, Legolas decided a moment later. He didn't really want to know what kind of deadly peril the ranger would get himself into next; besides, it hardly mattered now. He would worry about that once he had got that reckless human out of the trouble he was in at the moment, that should be quite enough, thank you very much.   
  
And that, he thought, the panic reappearing in an instant, was quite a lot, too. He did have some experience with trolls, which were quite often straying into the woods of his home. As a rule, they didn't hunt humans or elves for food, but they weren't known to pass up the opportunity for a meal when it presented itself to them. When he had been younger he had heard many stories about young elflings who hadn't heeded their parents' warnings, had ventured too far away from home and had consequently been caught and eaten by trolls, and even though he knew that these were tales meant to frighten young ones, there was more than just a little bit of truth in them.   
  
Legolas reached the sword and slowly crouched down, not touching the blade. His eyes were staring intently at the churned-up ground, willing it to provide him with some clues as to what had happened here – not that he would have required any, of course. He already knew what had transpired while he had been away scouting, and more than once he had already cursed his own thoughtlessness.   
  
Elladan had told them that there were trolls north of Rivendell, in Elbereth's name! What had he been thinking, leaving Aragorn alone, and injured at that, when there were trolls about? He could even remember the twins telling him about some trolls that had harassed the inhabitants of Imladris and the surrounding lands not much more than a score of years ago, and what did he do? All but hand Aragorn to them on a platter!   
  
Legolas shook his head and forced himself to concentrate, sharp eyes wandering over the ground. The trolls must have woken not much after they had run into the orcs, and, now able to move around as they pleased, would have got up to find themselves something for dinner. Aragorn must have heard their approach, even despite the stupor the man had been in when he had last seen him – which wasn't all that surprising, since trolls weren't exactly known to be stealthy – and must have tried to avoid detection when one of them (most likely the one whose tracks he had seen earlier) had come too close to his hiding place.   
  
Then, however, everything seemed to have gone wrong. Instead of avoiding the trolls, Aragorn must have attracted their attention, and in the end they had caught up with him here, next to the tree. And how else could it have ended, Legolas asked himself bitterly. If he was right – and he was rather sure that he was – there had been at least three trolls here, if not four. Not even if Aragorn had been well he would have stood a chance against them.   
  
With a dark curse Legolas finally stood to his feet, his hands wrapped tightly around the hilt of his friend's sword. Self-reproach would help neither him nor Aragorn now, he told himself as calmly as he could. That the trolls had apparently taken the man with them was actually a good thing, as grim as the situation might appear on first glance. The lumbering creatures hadn't killed the ranger on the spot, so that could only mean that they intended to … well, Legolas grimaced inwardly, _eat _him later, at their camp. That gave him time, time he so urgently needed to find them and teach them that entering the woods around Imladris was a mistake for which creatures of the darkness such as them paid with their lives.   
  
The elf took a deep breath, forcing himself to ignore the small, worried voice inside his head that still wouldn't fade. That might all very well be, it said mockingly, but Aragorn was already injured, wasn't he? Trolls were not only rather stupid, they were also brutal and uncaring, and they would surely not have treated him kindly or would have given any consideration to his wound or general state of health. Yes, they usually preferred fresh meat, but that didn't mean that they would go to any lengths to keep the man alive.   
  
'Varda Elentári, _focus_!' Legolas told himself, attempting to shut out that persistent voice. Where would the trolls have their camp? Yes, he could always follow their tracks, but if he could figure out where they were going, he might be able to get there before the slow creatures and their prisoner reached their destination. It was hard to tell how far ahead they were from these tracks, but judging from the dried, dark blood on Aragorn's sword he would say that they had arrived shortly after he had left the man. Which meant quite far ahead.   
  
They wouldn't have a camp, Legolas thought a moment later, once again only a step away from slapping himself. He was north of Rivendell, and north of Rivendell you could find hill-trolls, not stone-trolls like in the Trollshaws. Hill-trolls dwelt in holes in the ground, dark ravines or shallow caves, anywhere where they could hide from the sun during the day.   
  
So there was only one question, the fair haired elf concluded a moment later: Where was the nearest cave? For a few moments, absolutely nothing came to his mind, but then suddenly the image of a large, dark opening in a hillside appeared in his mind's eye. It had to be somewhere relatively close by, he reasoned, excitement beginning to surge through him. He had been hunting with the twins a few dozen years ago, and they had come past the cave. Elrohir had even told him something about a bunch of trolls that were said to live there, but he hadn't believed him then – of course not, especially not after the twin had just told him a story about how Glorfindel had supposedly written a rather rude word on Lord Erestor's forehead some hundred years ago.   
  
It was awfully thin ice he was treading on at the moment, Legolas was fully aware of that. Still, it was all he had right now, and every second he hesitated was one more second Aragorn was in danger and cut off from the medical attention he so urgently needed. Alright, the elf finally decided, he would follow the trolls' trail for a mile or two and see which direction they had chosen, and if he was proven right in his assumption that they were heading for the cave he remembered so well, he would cut across country and see if he could find a shortcut.   
  
Legolas frowned darkly while he began to follow the clearly visible tracks the trolls had left and carefully attached his friend's sword to his quiver. Whatever happened, he would catch up with them, sooner or later and no matter how long he would have to follow them.   
  
And when he did and these creatures had hurt his friend, they would wish they had never left their cave and set foot into these woods, he would make sure of that.

  
  
'Concentrate on the braid,' Elrond told himself firmly while he frowned at his reflection in the polished silver mirror in front of him. 'Concentrate on the … oh, damn it!'   
  
The dark frown on the half-elf's face became even darker, even though it lost quite a lot of its threatening menace by the state his hair was in. On first glance, he looked a lot like an elf who had just discovered that he had braided a sleeping bat into his hair, which had then decided to try and escape its new prison and had ripped out more than half of the hair in the process.   
  
Elrond stopped scowling at himself and let the brush sink down with which he had tried to conquer his hair's stubborn refusal to co-operate. The worst thing was that he not only looked like someone who had just braided an unwilling bat into his hair, he also felt like it. He had been trying to get his dark tresses to look at least faintly presentable for the feast tonight, but up until now he hadn't succeeded.   
  
It was all Thranduil's fault, he decided a moment later while he was still staring at what had no more than five minutes ago promised to become quite a nice braid. It was _so _like him to sire a son who was this reckless and accident-prone, and probably something the golden haired king had done to the sole purpose of annoying him. The more dubious character traits of the twins which got them and the prince into trouble he blamed on Celebrían anyway – he had never been like this, not even when Elros had still been alive.   
  
That had not exactly been a thought that cheered him up, and his bad mood became even worse and began to enter new dimensions of foulness. There were few days when he could actually think of his long-dead twin brother without experiencing the urge to start weeping, but there were none when he could think of his departed wife and not feel sadness and despair wash over him. After all, Elros had chosen to be counted among Men, he had chosen the fate that had befallen him and had never regretted it. Celebrían, however, had done no such thing; she had been brutally taken from him and everything and everyone she had loved and everyone who had loved her in return.   
  
If she was here now, Elrond knew, she would take that brush from him and help him untangle his hair, all the while scolding him for allowing it to get out of hand. Her mere presence would soothe his worries, would reassure him that his golden haired friend and his sons were alright and that they would have a peaceful festival for once – if only for a little while.   
  
But she was not here, the elf lord told himself bluntly. She was not here and would never return hither from the West, and all he could do was try and get used to missing a part of his soul until his time came to journey to Valinor himself. He had done it before after all, after Elros had died and had taken the piece of himself with him that had always been connected with his brother…   
  
Now his mood was as bad as it hadn't been in quite a long time, and with an inward sigh Elrond forced himself to return to the present.   
"Alright," he told his reflection darkly which merely stared back expressionlessly, "Have it your way. No braids today. If I get strange looks because I am not looking presentable enough or sufficiently adorned, it will be your fault."   
  
If hair had the ability to look smug, Elrond's did just that now. Deciding to ignore his hair's obstinacy, the half-elf searched for one of his silver hair clips and quickly bound back his long, dark tresses, convinced that this was the only feasible course of action. He was in no mood to play games with his hair tonight, and if he tried to tame it now, he might end up shearing all of it off in a fit of fury.   
  
Just when he had come to the conclusion that this was the most respectable sight he was going to present tonight (at least until his seneschal, his sons and Prince Legolas returned safe and sound), a soft knock sounded on the door separating his suite and the corridor. With another soundless curse that would no doubt have shocked even his sons he gave his rather plucked-looking reflection a last dark look and left his bedroom, crossed the sitting room that was attached to it and opened the door with quite a bit more force than necessary.   
  
The sudden move had apparently surprised the elf knocking on the wooden door, for his still raised knuckles would almost have made contact with Elrond's nose. The collision was narrowly avoided, and Elrond gave the dark haired elf in front of him the _look_, his mood not improved in the slightest.   
"Yes?"   
  
There were not many people in Imladris, Eriador or the rest of Arda who were not very impressed by the _look _when it was centred on them in all its glory, but fortunately for Erestor he was one of them.   
"It is time, my friend," he told the half-elf calmly. "The celebrations will start soon."   
  
"Wonderful," Elrond retorted, leaving Erestor to wonder how a person could put so much sarcasm into a single word.   
  
"If you keep shooting this glare at people, my lord, at least half of the elves attending the celebrations will run off screaming."   
  
"For that sight alone it might be worth it," Elrond mumbled so softly that Erestor could hardly understand him, which just might have been the half-elf's intention in the first place.   
  
The other dark haired lord gave him a mildly admonishing look which Elrond either didn't notice or ignored and shortly contemplated telling his lord what a joyful time the next two days would be and how much fun they would all have if he only allowed himself to enjoy them, but one look at the dark expression on the half-elf's face quickly made him change his mind. There were times when all such speeches got you was one of Elrond's really evil looks of doom, and this was definitely one of them.   
  
"They will be fine," Erestor finally tried another approach. "They are only an hour late yet. There could be all kinds of reasons why they aren't here."   
  
"Oh yes," Elrond agreed darkly. "Would you like to hear some? Orcs, wargs, wolves, trolls, goblins, highwaymen, hunting accidents, bolting horses, broken bones, bleeding wounds…"   
  
"Ah yes," Erestor raised a hand. "I think I understand what you are aiming at, my lord."   
  
"I even think," Elrond went on and turned around to the window overlooking the gardens, "that he is doing this on purpose, just so he doesn't have to talk with me. But let me tell you one thing: It will not work. I am not letting this go, and I don't care if tomorrow is Midyear's Day or not. For all I care, it could be his begetting day; he will still tell me what I want to hear."   
  
"Who?" Erestor asked, a question that wasn't entirely necessary since he knew perfectly well about whom his lord was talking.   
  
He had barely spoken that word when a from the looks of it rather horrified elf burst around the corner and skidded to a halt in front of him. The young elf was gasping for breath as if he had run the entire way here – which he probably had, judging by the way his hair was flying around his head and the flowers that seemed to have adorned it at some point were coming loose and falling to the floor even as he watched.   
"Lord … Lord Glorfindel!" he finally gasped out.   
  
"Exactly," Elrond nodded without turning around. "Who else? I swear that, once I set foot onto the shores of the Blessed Realm, I will go and ask Námo and Manwë and all the others who were involved in this what they were thinking when they sent him back and…"   
  
Only now it seemed to register in his brain that it hadn't been Erestor who had spoken these last words and he turned around, his eyes widening when he saw the slightly dishevelled elf who was staring at him with wide eyes.   
"What did you say, young one?"   
  
"Lord Glorfindel," the elf repeated breathlessly. "Please, my lord, you have to come quickly! Lord Glorfindel has been injured!"   
  
Elrond was already out of the door before the young elf had even finished the sentence, and Erestor and the messenger only caught up with him when he was already hurrying down the stairs leading to the lower levels of the house. The dark haired elf lord shot the two elves next to him a quick look while the three of them were rushing down the steps, eyes filled with suppressed worry.   
"Injured how?"   
  
"I do not know, my lord," the young elf shook his head breathlessly. "Your sons arrived mere moments ago – only the twins, my lord," he clarified quickly. "There was no one else with them, only Lord Glorfindel. I was sent to fetch you while they brought him to the healing chambers."   
  
Elrond changed his course smoothly and headed down the right corridor instead of taking the left one as he apparently had wanted to do at first. In a matter of moments they had reached the healing chambers even despite the multitude of elves that were crowding the corridors, and without hesitation the dark haired lord threw the doors open and hurried inside.   
  
At the sound of the opening door Elrohir looked up from where he was trying to loosen the makeshift bandage he had applied when they had been ambushed, and a relieved smile spread over his face when he saw his father enter the room, clad in costly robes but with surprisingly unbraided hair.   
"_Ada_! Thank the Valar!"   
  
He felt Elladan relax next to him, together with most of the healers that were crowding around the narrow pallet on which they had placed the injured blond elf. Their father's eyes shortly wandered over the two of them, apparently making sure that neither of them was seriously injured, before they fixed on his unconscious friend.   
"What happened?" he asked while he rushed over to their side.   
  
"An orc ambush, father," Elladan asked curtly. "Only a few miles from the most northern guard post. We had to split up; the others should get here soon."   
  
Elrond nodded, only half-hearing what his eldest son was telling him. Now that he was sitting on the edge of Glorfindel's bed, he realised why Elladan hadn't told him what kind of injury Glorfindel had sustained. It was painfully obvious, after all, with the broken stub of an arrow still protruding from the right side of other elf's lower chest.   
  
After a moment of simply staring at his wounded friend his head shot up and he fixed his eyes on Elladan and then Erestor.   
  
"Elladan, please see to it that reinforcements are sent north, just in case this was more than an ambush. We will wait a little yet to send out search parties; we'll give them some more time to get here on their own." The twin nodded quickly and got to his feet, briefly placing a hand on his brother's shoulder before he turned around, and Elrond turned his attention to his chief councillor who was staring at the projectile piercing his friend's breast. "Erestor, could you please open the festivities? Give a little speech or something like that; I do not think I will be able to attend the feast after all."   
  
The dark haired elf blinked, as if coming out of a trance, and finally inclined his head.   
"Of course, my lord."   
  
He turned and followed Elladan out of the room, and was already on the threshold and about to close the wooden doors when he stopped and turned back around, quickly disguised fear on his face as he looked back at Elrond and the still body of their friend next to him.   
"Will he live?"   
  
Elrond looked up, his fingers still resting under Glorfindel's chin to feel the weak, fluttering beats of the other elf's heart.   
"I do not know," he admitted softly, his eyes hard as stone in his pale face. "But I will not let him go without a fight, that I promise you."   
  
Erestor remained where he was for a few moments, merely looking at his lord and friend, but then he nodded again and softly closed the doors from the outside. Elrond barely noticed his advisor's departure, so concentrated was he on the still form of his friend. Deciding that there was nothing he would be able to do if he couldn't see a thing, he reached over to the table next to him, took up a knife and began to cut through Glorfindel's shirt and tunic, trying not to think about what the other elf would say about that once he awoke. Glorfindel _really _liked that shirt as far as he knew.  
  
"Is there an exit wound?" he asked, his eyes fixed on his work. "How far away were you from the orcs when he was hit?"   
  
"Not much more than thirty yards," Elrohir answered while he was helping his father to divest the wounded elf of his shirt without disturbing the wound. "And no, I couldn't find an exit wound. I think the arrow got stuck between two ribs."   
  
"Let us hope that you are incorrect, my son," Elrond said softly as the cloth fell away, fully exposing the wound. "Because I don't think that he would survive it if we would have to actually cut him even more to remove the arrowhead."   
  
Elrohir grimaced, staring blindly at the black, blood-encrusted arrow that protruded from his old tutor's chest. He had seen many wounds, and treated injuries even worse than this one, but rarely one that looked as gravely as this one on a person whom he respected and loved like a second father.   
"I am sorry," he whispered even more softly. "I did what I could. There was so little time and I didn't have any bandages and…"   
  
"Elrohir," his father interrupted his sentence and shortly looked up from where he was gently probing the area around the arrow. "I do not blame you. Nobody does. You did well; it is a miracle that he is still alive."   
  
"You don't know everything, _ada_," the younger twin shook his head softly. "Estel was wounded as well. He saved Legolas from an orc, and it cut him deeply before he could kill it. We couldn't even bring him with us; there were simply too many orcs. We had to get Glorfindel here as quickly as possible, and so we left the two of them, left them to fend for themselves."   
  
While he had been speaking Elrond's eyes had darkened, and he stiffened almost imperceptibly at the younger elf's words. A moment later, however, all fear and worry in his eyes was pushed back and a mask of calm control slipped over his face.   
"That is not to be changed," he said evenly. "We can do nothing for them now, but we can help Glorfindel. I will need your help, Elrohir, or he will die. Do you understand?"   
  
"Yes," the dark haired twin bowed his head swiftly. "What do you want me to do, father?"   
  
Elrond returned his attention to his motionless friend, ruthlessly pushing down the fear inside his heart.   
"Help me turn him onto his side," he ordered curtly. "I don't think the arrow is stuck between two ribs. I think it shattered one and therefore did not exit again, but I do not think it is stuck."   
  
Elrohir did as he was told and pressed his lips together as he understood the implications of his father's words.   
"You want to push it through."   
  
"Yes," Elrond nodded calmly. "We will need to work swiftly; he doesn't have much time left. We mustn't tarry any further."   
  
"Are you sure he that is strong enough for this?" Elrohir asked anxiously while Elrond beckoned three healers to take a hold of the unconscious elf to prevent him from moving. "It's already been more than two hours since he was hit, and I was never able to stop the bleeding fully. Are you certain that he has the strength to survive this?"   
  
Elrond seemed to freeze for a moment, but then he looked up and met his son's frightened gaze with eyes that were full of fear and pain and doubt.   
"No," he replied so softly that Elrohir could barely understand him. "I am not sure. I hope that he is strong enough, that his spirit is too unwilling to depart from Arda yet again, but I am not sure. The only thing I am sure about is that he will die if we do nothing."   
  
"Then let us hurry and do what must be done," Elrohir retorted with a faint smile. "If anyone can survive through sheer tenacity, it is Glorfindel."   
  
"I pray that you are right, my son," Elrond nodded softly. "I pray that you are right, because I don't know what else to do. I will need you to cut off the arrowhead once we manage to push it through, Elrohir. Are you ready?"   
  
Elrohir and the other healers nodded, and without giving himself the time to come up with even more things that could go wrong Elrond took a hold of the dark shaft of the arrow, angled it in what he hoped was the right direction and pushed with all his might.   
  
Half a second later he was once again reminded of why most healers never or only very reluctantly tended their closest friends or family. The scream that broke from Glorfindel's throat even despite his unconscious state was nearly enough to tear his hear apart, and the three healers had more than a little bit of trouble to press the blond elf's fighting body back onto the mattress. From where he had taken the resolve and cold-bloodedness to ignore his best friend's distress and continue pushing the arrow through the other elf's flesh he would later not be able to remember. He ignored the sounds of pain the harsh but necessary treatment forced out of the blond elf and the way his body tensed against the pain that shot through him, and finally, after what felt like an eternity, the roughly triangular, dark arrowhead broke through the skin of his patient's back.   
  
Elrond fought down the anger and hatred that welled up inside of him at the sight of the small object that was glistering with his friend's blood and was about to tell his son to cut off that obscenity that protruded from the golden haired elf's flesh, but before he had even opened his mouth Elrohir had already moved forward and carefully separated the arrowhead from the wooden shaft.   
  
As soon as the arrowhead had been cut off Elrond began to pull the arrow back out, oblivious of the way Glorfindel's body was still fighting against what it perceived to be even more harm done to it and also of the cold sweat that was beginning to gather on his own forehead. The half-elven healer would have liked to pull the arrow out as quickly as possible, and be it only so he could break it into tiny little pieces and then burn it, but he knew that he had to work slowly and carefully unless he wanted to cause even more damage. After another few seconds the wooden arrow finally slid out of Glorfindel's chest, glistering wet and red in the candlelight.   
  
For a moment, Elrond merely stared at the crudely carved projectile before he let it drop to the floor and turned back to his blond friend whose body had stilled once more, apparently accepting the futility of trying to fight against what was happening to it. The next few minutes passed quickly while Elrond, Elrohir and the other healers did their best to staunch the blood that flowed freely from the wounds. After half an hour of cleaning both the entry and the exit wound and stitching them closed Elrond finally fastened the end of the last bandage and sat back, staring absent-mindedly at his blood-covered hands.   
  
"_Ada_?"   
  
His son's soft voice combined with a hand that was placed on his forearm brought him out of his short trance, and Elrond looked up, too weary to even try and put on a reassuring smile.   
  
"Will he be alright?" Elrohir asked in concern, his eyes darting from Glorfindel's now motionless figure to his father.   
  
Elrond closed his eyes for a moment, asking himself once again just why he had let them go on this accursed hunting trip anyway. This was a price far too high to pay for fresh meat!   
"If he makes it through the night and his wounds don't get infected, then yes, he should."   
  
Elrohir gave a deep, heartfelt sigh of relief, a tentative smile beginning to spread over his face.   
"He will make it, _ada_," he said, more to reassure his father than himself. "You know how stubborn Glorfindel can be. He would never allow something as insignificant as an orc arrow to kill him."   
  
"I seriously hope so," Elrond smiled faintly. "I still have some things to discuss to him, and I will be most displeased if he chooses the easy way out and decides to grace Mandos' halls with his presence yet again."   
  
Elrohir grinned slightly, intent on trying to cheer his father up a little.   
"I am sure Mandos would be very pleased about that."   
  
"Most certainly," Elrond nodded wryly and ran a hand over his face, leaving a broad, bloody streak on his forehead. He looked over to the large windows, noting with more than a little bit of shock how much time had passed since Erestor had knocked on his door. "Go and change into something that doesn't look as if it had spent a prolonged amount of time in a slaughterhouse, _ion nín_. I will stay with him."   
  
Elrohir frowned and looked down at himself, only now noticing that the better part of his shirt was covered with dark, dried blood – Glorfindel's blood, he realised with a small stab of horror.   
"Yes, father." He was about to turn around and leave when a thought struck him. "What about the others?"   
  
Elrond hesitated for a moment.   
"You can go and see how your brother is doing, but don't send out any additional guards. It's too dark now anyway, and I wouldn't want anyone to miss the feast unless they absolutely have to. If the reinforcements encounter any additional trouble, we will send out search parties, but otherwise we will wait until sunrise."   
  
Elrohir looked as if he wanted to protest, but a second later acceptance flittered over his exhausted features.   
"As you wish, _ada_."   
  
He turned to leave, but was halted in mid-motion by his father's voice that sounded calm and controlled, but to one who knew him well also apprehensive and worried.   
"You said Estel was wounded, Elrohir."   
  
It was a statement, not a question, and the younger twin slowly turned back around and nodded wordlessly. Elrond nodded as well, his eyes darkening slightly when he added, "How badly?"   
  
"I don't know, _ada_," Elrohir admitted softly, pain and guilt warring inside his heart. "We were separated during the fight, but … but I think it was a deep wound. A scimitar, to the left side, that is all I saw." He swallowed quickly and added bluntly, "Judging by the look on Legolas' face, it was quite bad."   
  
Elrond nodded again, more slowly this time.   
"I see."   
  
"He'll be fine," Elrohir said quickly, realising that he was beginning to sound like a pet bird that had been taught only one sentence. "Legolas is with him. He won't allow anything to happen to him, you know that."   
  
His father smiled slightly and sat back a little in his chair, automatically reaching out to check Glorfindel's heartbeat and breathing.   
"No, he won't; you are right, my son," he agreed. "Go and get cleaned up. I would ask you to try and enjoy the festival, but…"   
  
"I will try, father," Elrohir smiled, a dark, worried expression in his eyes that belied his promise. "We will come back later to see how he is doing."   
  
Elrond nodded again, and with a last look at Glorfindel's far too quiet form the younger twin turned around and left the room, closing the door silently behind him. Elrond looked after his son for a while, but then he got up to wash the blood from his hands and arms. After all but forcing all the healers whose presence was not absolutely required to leave as well, Elrond slowly walked over to the large window to his left, his eyes trying to pierce the blackness of the night that had laid itself over the valley.   
  
For long moments he remained where he was, staring into the inky darkness of the night as his thoughts and prayers went out to his youngest son and his friend. A moment later he sighed softly, and with a last, long look the Lord of Imladris turned around and returned to his best friend's bedside.

  
  
Legolas was sitting in a large, green-leafed tree, and was at the moment very busy cursing his luck in all the tongues of Elves and Men that he knew – and he knew quite a lot. After a short while he decided that the aforementioned languages weren't even nearly vicious enough for that particular task, and so he quickly began to sort through the fragments of Dwarvish he had picked up over the years for something that might be able to convey his feelings.   
  
It was truly amazing, Legolas thought while he was trying to remember a specifically evil curse he had heard from Celylith many years ago, the one involving an ill-tempered dragon with a liking for grilled orcish liver, fire, doom and pain. If all this weren't happening to him, he would find it downright hilarious – because it _was _happening to him, however, he was not amused in the slightest.   
  
He should have thought of this, the fair haired elf reminded himself darkly. His thoughtlessness had to be contributed to his worry and fear for Aragorn; there was simply no other explanation. Legolas shook his head, his eyes once again returning to the spot where he had watched the four trolls disappear into their cave only a few minutes ago. He was a fool.   
  
They were hill-trolls, so it was only logical that they didn't have an open camp _next _to a cave but rather _in _a cave – only that he hadn't thought of that. His wonderful plan (namely to distract the trolls, grab Aragorn and run as fast as he could) had not really taken into account that said trolls would choose to take the ranger inside their cave – which they had done, no more than five minutes ago.   
  
Legolas ground his teeth, inwardly cursing the fact that these were hill-trolls and also their overcautious attitude. He would have to go inside that stupid, doubly accursed cave; there was simply nothing else he could do. He hated caves, the elf ranted soundlessly while he was climbing down as quickly as he could, now satisfied that the trolls were truly inside and wouldn't hear him. He really, really hated them, ever since that one time he had got stuck in a huge cave system to the east of Mirkwood when he had been little more than an elfling.   
  
The fair haired elf's feet touched the ground without a sound and he carefully hurried over to the entrance of the cave, forcing his thoughts away from these memories that were full of darkness and fear. That was, however, not necessarily a good thing, because his mind immediately jumped to the way Aragorn had looked when he had seen him not much more than five minutes ago.   
  
Legolas' hands balled to fists at his side, and he had to force himself to remain calm and not to betray his anger by making any impatient or hasty movements. He would kill these things, he truly would. They had carried the man as if he was a sort of puppet or doll or something like that! It was most likely a good thing that Aragorn had been unconscious, because the trolls had handed him to each other when they had reached their destination – or rather, thrown him to each other in a way the man would most certainly not have appreciated.   
  
A few moments later he had reached the cave and pressed himself against the rough earthen wall at his back, listening intently to the sounds that filtered through stone and earth. It had taken him a lot longer to follow the trolls than he had originally thought – it appeared that they were not only paranoid, they were also in a hurry. He had finally come to the conclusion that they were indeed heading for the cave he was remembering, but even though he had taken a shortcut through a small wood which the trolls had circumvented he had arrived only minutes before the trolls.   
  
The unarticulated mumblings from inside the cave were interrupted by a loud shout, quickly followed by another and then a third – it appeared that a small argument had broken out. Legolas couldn't really understand what the trolls were talking about in their grunting language, but it appeared that there was some question about who got to pick the spit on which they would roast his friend. For long moments, Legolas was very tempted to throw reason and caution out of the window and simply rush into the cave, but common sense quickly re-established its hold over him.   
  
If he rushed in there now, the elf told himself firmly, he would be killed beyond the shadow of a doubt. There was a saying among the older warriors of his home: "_Anglennad dorog vin erui nâ alidhor, anglennad dâd nâ úchannas_." Translated into Westron it meant something like "Approaching one troll alone is carelessness, approaching two is stupidity." It was something he had heard many times in the past, and every single one of his encounters with trolls had proved that it was the truth. To try and take on a horde of trolls alone was idiocy, especially when you had to free someone who was most likely not even conscious.  
  
And, Legolas concluded darkly, he may be many things, but he was most definitely not a complete idiot. Putting the memory of the blood that had been soaking through the bandage around Aragorn's waist firmly out of his head and trying to ignore the small voice inside his head that was right now calculating how much more of the precious fluid the man would have lost by now, Legolas attempted to think of something that might sufficiently distract four hungry trolls from their meal.   
  
He could always start a fire, Legolas finally thought somewhat hesitantly. Trolls – like orcs and other dark creatures – feared large fires, and it might distract them enough so that he could somehow take Aragorn and run. Then again, he added wryly, it might also only serve to suffocate all of them, the ranger and himself included. He was still thinking about an alternative when the sounds from inside the cave faded once again; the argument had apparently been settled. He was out of time.   
  
Before he really knew what he was doing Legolas had pushed off the wall and moved over to the entrance of the cave. A moment later the darkness of the cavern surrounded him and he had to suppress his growing unease. After a few dozen steps a faint shimmer of light became visible, flickering and at times disappearing completely. A fire, the elf realised with a small stab of dread. The trolls must already have lit a small fire.   
  
All the better, he thought grimly. If they had lit a fire, they would also have additional fuel nearby, which in turn meant that it would be easier to actually set the cave aflame – if he got that chance in the first place. He would, however, prefer it if the trolls were simply too busy arguing with each other about who got to eat which part of his friend (a rather large part of him started laughing uproariously at that rather morbid thought), because then he would simply grab Aragorn and run while their attention was diverted. He would love to be able to kill all of them, but he was too realistic not to realise that his chances of success were slim.   
  
After a few moments of walking down a tunnel that was at least twice as high as he Legolas reached a small junction, and after a second's hesitation he chose the left corridor. The dim, flickering light grew brighter and the rumbling, bellowing sounds of the trolls louder, and after another twenty or thirty yards Legolas reached what looked like the main cave, a large space with walls that looked like a curious mix of earth and mud and solid stone.   
  
What was far more impressive than the material of the walls were the cave's occupants, and Legolas decided a little dazedly that watching trolls from his safe and rather remote perch in the tree had not really prepared him for this sight.   
  
The trolls were truly enormous, even thought Legolas had already seen bigger ones in the southern part of Mirkwood, close to Dol Guldur. Seldom, however, had he been this close to one of these creatures, something he didn't lament in the slightest if he was completely honest with himself.   
  
The first thing that one noticed when one was close to a troll was the stench, a dark, somehow muddy smell that reminded Legolas of something dead that had been lying in a still body of water for a long time. The next thing the elven prince always noted was the sheer size of the creatures; every one was man-shaped, but far larger than any man (or elf, for that matter) Legolas had ever seen.   
  
They were about ten feet tall or even taller, and as wide as three or four men put together. Their bodies were covered with hard grey-green scales, and their heads were surprisingly small for the rest of them – which was only fitting, since they were also exceedingly stupid. What they lacked in intelligence, however, they made up for with viciousness and general horridness. For a moment Legolas thought they were unarmed, but he quickly saw that he was mistaken: Four large, crudely carved hammers were leaning against the wall to the far left next to a pile of firewood, presenting a surprisingly tidy and neat row.   
  
This sight (right now three of them were shouting at each other while the forth was busy sharpening something that looked like a long wooden spit) combined with the bellowing sounds with which the four of them were communicating would most likely have been enough to send even dauntless men running away screaming, but Legolas had seen such things before. What really interested the elf at the moment was nowhere to be seen, a fact that was beginning to bring him close to the brink of panic.   
  
The prince's eyes were still darting over the cave's interior, desperately searching for Aragorn or even only a sign of him, when one of the trolls made a sweeping, jerky movement with one of his arms, apparently trying to make a point. As if following an invisible red line Legolas' eyes travelled past the troll's green-tinged, scaly arm, all the way down to what looked like a bundle of blood-stained rags on the ground, not much more than thirty or forty feet to the elf's right.   
  
It didn't really take him more than half a second to realise that he had just found Aragorn, and only another half-second to understand with crystal clarity that his plan, namely simply to take Aragorn and run without setting anything on fire, would not work. Aragorn would be going nowhere in the near future, at least not on his own, and there was no way they would be getting out of here if he wasn't even awake to at least try and help.   
  
Legolas' heart seemed to freeze inside his chest when he saw how pale the man actually was; what little was visible of his face was so white that Legolas was almost sure that there couldn't be a single drop of blood left in the ranger's body. His friend was lying on his side, crumbled and in a heap as if the trolls had simply thrown him there and he hadn't moved since. The wound or the bandage Legolas had wrapped around it were not visible, but the elf thought he saw more than a little bit of blood seeping into the ground beneath the ranger. The lumbering creatures hadn't even seen it necessary to tie the man's hands or restrain him in any way, which Legolas could understand only too well. Aragorn looked horrible.   
  
Alright, the elf nodded to himself, a calmness spreading inside of him he was at a loss to explain. So Aragorn wouldn't be walking; that was of no consequence. If the man couldn't walk, then Legolas would carry him, even all the way back to Rivendell if he had to. Now he only needed something he could set on fire … if possible, something that cause the flames to spread quickly and…   
  
A rather wicked grin spread over Legolas' face as his eyes came to rest on the huge hammers that were leaning against the wall to his left. They were crude, ugly and speckled with reddish-brown stains that looked horribly like blood – and not the orcish variety – but they looked dry enough. One of his hands was already beginning to sift through one of the pouches at his belt before the plan had even fully formed in his mind, and a moment later his fingers closed around a small piece of flint.   
  
With a quick look at the trolls to ensure that they were still distracted enough so they wouldn't notice his presence – they definitely were since they were at the moment rather busy pushing each other in a rather childlike manner – Legolas soundlessly entered the cave and pressed himself against the rough wall, carefully moving into the direction of the hammers. After what felt like an eternity he reached the crudely carved weapons and stopped, his eyes darting from the still arguing trolls to the motionless form of his friend.   
  
With a last glance at the four monstrous creatures Legolas crouched down and drew one of his knives, wincing slightly when he heard the sharp, metallic and to his ears deafeningly loud sound it made when the blade connected with the small stone he held in his other hand. Almost immediately a small red-golden spark danced over the blade, but it was not strong enough and too far away from the hammers to actually ignite the wood.   
  
Legolas gritted his teeth once again, and with an inward prayer to Elbereth he repeated the process, his eyes once again returning to the four quarrelling trolls. The large creatures didn't seem to have heard the small noises he had been creating, too concentrated were they on their debate, and so the elf looked back at the four wooden hammers. A fine, grey line of smoke greeted his eyes, and he would almost have laughed aloud. The second try had produced a large spark which had been enough to ignite one of the hammers, and within seconds the spark had grown into a tiny flame that was beginning to sneak into the direction of the other wooden weapons, seeking greedily for more fuel.   
  
The fair haired elf waited for a few more seconds, not willing to depart too soon lest the fire should go out again, but then he turned back around and all but tiptoed into the direction where his unconscious friend still lay in a crumpled heap. This ought to solve two problems at once, Legolas decided while he moved over to Aragorn, his eyes not leaving the backs of the trolls in front of him. He would get rid of the trolls' weapons _and _create a diversion at the same time – besides, it pleased him to no end that, even though he may not be able to harm the trolls themselves, he was at least destroying their weapons. It was not as good as killing all of them, but it was better than nothing.   
  
In retrospect he realised that all this had been going far too smoothly, of course; now, however, it came as a huge surprise to him when the four creatures ended their argument with the same abruptness with which they had started it. The three quarrelling trolls stopped bellowing at each other from one moment to the next, and the fourth put down the crude knife (truly nothing more than a piece of metal that had been tied to a large stick) it had used to sharpen the large spit in its hands.   
  
After glaring at each other with their small, wicked eyes the four trolls slowly turned around, their huge, bulky bodies moving with a speed one would not have expected from them. Legolas froze and pressed himself against the wall at his back, doing his utmost best to assume the look and texture of the greyish stone. Two of the large creatures didn't even look in his direction but slowly walked over to the fire in the middle of the room and began to stoke it, adding huge pieces of wood to the flames. The third, the one with the spit, fixed its small eyes on their captive, apparently trying to decide whether it would be long enough for their meal and looking as if that task was asking too much of its intelligence.   
  
It wasn't the trolls stoking the fire that worried Legolas, however, and even the one measuring his friend like a piece of meat did nothing more than awake faint anger in his heart. The one that really captured his attention was the one that was staring at the hammers at the other end of the cave – the hammers that were burning merrily by now.   
  
The troll simply stared at his burning weapon for a moment, its small, wickedly gleaming eyes blank and clueless. It raised a large, clawed hand to its small bald head and scratched it in an almost comical display of confusion, still merely gazing at the hammers. Then, as if it had been told about him by a malevolent ghost, the troll slowly and deliberately turned its head and looked straight at Legolas.   
  
For a long moment, troll and elf simply stared at each other, stupid surprise on the one and loathing on the other face. A heartbeat later the spell was broken and the troll shook its head, anger and hatred beginning to contort its face as it began to understand that someone, and an elf no less, was about to steal the dinner for which it and its companions had worked so hard.   
  
Legolas didn't wait for the creature to recover from its surprise, and in the moment the troll's angry roar filled the cave he abandoned all attempts at stealth and secrecy and rushed over to Aragorn's still body, inwardly shaking his head at their bad luck.   
  
It would have been far too easy if everything had gone according to plan, after all.

  
  
  
  
  
**TBC...**

  
  
  
  
  
_ada - father (daddy)  
ion nín - my son  
  
  
  
  
_**On second thought, this cliffy wasn't too bad either. I know that about 90% of you don't agree, but still. shrugs Be that as it may, the next chapter should be here on ... let me think ... Monday, I think, in which quite a lot happens. We see a little of what troubles Glorfindel, have a little discussion between Elrond and Erestor, and Legolas finds out just what happens to elves who ignore their elders' warnings and take on four trolls alone. No, it's not going to be entirely pain-free. g As always: Review? Please?!**

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Additional A/N:  
  
HarryEstel ** - Guilty as charged. I even love cliffhangers, but only when I write them. Otherwise I'm not too fond of them myself. g You are right, of course, poor Glorfindel and Estel. In fact, the words "poor everyone" would sum everything up quite nicely, I think. They are really having a bad day. g  
**Tmelange **- Well, thank you! It's very nice to hear that you're still enjoying this! Thanks a lot for the review!  
**Deana **- I hope you didn't have to wait too long. Four days is VERY fast for me. It's actually quite nice to have the story already finished before posting. I envy Cassia and Sio. g Thanks for the review!  
**Someone Reading **- LOL, that's my first "Most deceptive beginning of a chapter"-award! Thanks a lot! No matter what you do, however, you shouldn't forget to breathe. Human bodies need oxygen, or so I've heard. g It's great you liked the fight scene. When I started writing I hated fight scenes, but I quickly got over that. Now I even like writing them, mostly. There are some that are still quite hard to write. shrugs They are tricky little things. It's wonderful to hear that you liked the chapter so much (but please stop saying all these nice things - you will give me delusions of grandeur! g), thanks a lot for your review!  
**Mornflower **- Don't hit Legolas. It's wasn't really his fault, after all. I mean, yes, he left Aragorn alone, even though he was wounded, knowing that he would most likely not be there when he came back ... ah, what the heck, go ahead. Hit him. He deserves it, stupid woof-elf that he is. g I hope you didn't, after all, lose the rest of your sanity, and don't worry, you'll find out where Estle went. Everything is going to be fine - eventually. evil grin  
**Sadie Elfgirl **- Ah yes, the chickens. Glad you liked them, I honestly don't know where that comparison came from. shrugs I'm weird, don't tell me. I'm sorry about the cliffy - uhm, no, I'm not, now that I think about it. This story has only five chapters, so I need to start early! g  
**Zinnith **- Hmm, let me think. "Your" elf lord has an orc arrow imbedded in his chest. Yup, I think you should be worried. g And I AM being nice to Glorfindel. All this will (of course) end in him telling Elrond what's wrong, so it's only for his own good. Your new flat sounds very nice indeed! And I can only recommend cats! We have five, and I can't imagine living without them. Shmul is at the moment sitting next to my keyboard and trying to bite my fingers. huggles cat Isn't he adorable?   
**Nikara **- Yeah, I guess he could say that Glorfindel REALLY has a problem now. Then again, he's unconscious, so he might not even be aware of that. g Aragorn's wound wasn't really poisoned, he was just behaving like he always is: Reckless and without thinking. Did anyone expect anything else? g  
**Katie **- LOL, yes, it's quite careless to misplace a ranger. Bad Legolas. g Great you like the rivalry between different elven people. I just can't imagine that they all decided to be the best friends after the destruction of Beleriand. It doesn't really fit, and teasing each other is the least one can expect, I think. I like Aragorn angst as well, only a little, of course. I know, who'd have thought? g  
**Ellyrianna **- Well, that was highly quotable! How could I resist? I am very glad that you won't spent your vacation wondering about Aragorn. He's in a lot of trouble, don't worry. evil grin Hmm, Tuck Everlasting sounds interesting. I have to admit that I've really never heard of it. shrugs Well, I guess you never heard of the "Robber Hotzenplotz" either. It's a wonderful book though, about someone who constantly tries to steal the grandmother's plum tarts. And her coffee mill. blushes Don't ask. It's one of these children's books about everyone here knows. It's very good, too. nods I loved it. I hope you have a lot of fun in Mexico!  
**Marbienl **- Whoah! Huge review! Thanks! huggles Thanks btw, but I could never write something about Gollum. I've never liked that treacherous little bas$$$$, and I don't think he's adorable. Not even in the movies. Now that you ask me, however, I must admit that I like Aragorn a lot more. I can't help myself, even though I like the twins and Elrond a lot, too. Legolas is unfortunately only my fifth-favourite elf. pats his head Don't worry, I STILL like you. g Oh, I AM on holiday. College doesn't start till mid-October, but we have to write papers and have exams now. Don't ask me why, it's always been like this, that's reason enough, I guess. School doesn't start till the tenth of August either, which makes working in the library not that much easier. g I never said that I follow C&S' version of Legolas' and Aragorn's first meeting. I decided to kill Gilraen off, too, but I never said that they'd met like they described in that first story of theirs. Sorry. Thanks for pointing that mistake out, though. I ALWAYS confuse "muster" with "survey" (or a synonym), it's because in German "mustern" means both "to muster" and "to survey". I just can't get it into my head. hits herself I hate it. There ARE different kind of trolls, it's in LOTR, the appendices, the Hobbit, and the Book of Lost Tales (at least I think so). There are cave-trolls, hill-trolls, stone-trolls, mountain trolls and snow-trolls. Oh, and olog-hai, of course, let's not forget about them. g Legolas' horse isn't Rashwe yet. I think he gets it sometime between now and AEFAE. You are quite scary, btw. You REALLY like Estel pain and angst and all that, huh? g Yeah, I thought so. But Estel isn't that stupid as to hide to mock Legolas. Besides, I don't think he possesses the strength to do more than lift his head at the moment. evil grin LOL, don't bother, I am quite happy with my series as it is, namely nameless. g About the movies: they synchronise most of the movies here, I think about 95% or something like that. But there are quite a lot of cinemas where you can watch the original version, with or without subtitles. I have stopped watching synchronised movies altogether; it's almost always better to watch the original. g And I'm studying History, my dear, it's ABOUT finding the original sources. If you can't do that, you should find yourself another subject. Most of the time it's rather easy. Look at this novel! points at reply All your fault! But still: Thanks a lot for the huge review! huggles  
**Kathleen La Corneille **- I hope you didn't really check twenty times for the chapter. I'm beginning to feel bad for not posting sooner... g And trust me, mate, that cliffy WAS only a little cliffy. This one is worse, or at least I think so. It's a matter of definition, I think. And please don't leave your mother's wedding for this. My mother would kill me - mind, you, not that she would marry in the first place, but still... g But it's very nice to hear that you like this so much! Thanks!  
**Kitsune Kida **- Yay! I got another one hooked! evil cackle Uhm, sorry, ignore that please. I didn't say anything. g It's great to see that there's another person who liked cliffies, though. They're a lot of fun, aren't they? Anyway, thanks a lot for reviewing!  
**Templa Otmena **- blushes Thanks a lot for all the very nice compliments. Since I know perfectly well how awful college can be (right now I am suffering through a course on Medieval History. I HATE Medieval history! g), I am very glad that I could help. Thanks for taking the time to review - you may like the chapters, but I LOVE reviews! g  
**TrinityTheSheDevil **- You're twitching a lot, don't you? I have no idea why... g Great you liked the cliffy. You DID like him, didn't you? evil grin Of course you did. And now give me back my reckless human. I need him for this post. Really. Thanks. g  
**Lindahoyland **- Hmm, let me think for a second. What will happen to Aragorn ... ah yes, now I remember. Quite a lot, and most of it unpleasant and/or painful. Does that answer your question? g  
**Firnsarnien **- You! huggles I missed you! Great to see that you're still with us, and I hope you had lots of fun on your vacation. Making you wait till the last chapter to find out what's wrong with Glorfindel isn't unnecessary. It's VERY necessary for the plot, but I will admit that it's a little cruel. g As I said in the A/N, you don't have to worry about Elvynd, I will need him for the next story. He'll definitely survive this one. g But you're right, he DOES seem like a "typical, expedable, handy little disposable Elf". Maybe I'll kill him in that other story... ducks heavy objects Just a thought! Thanks again for the review! huggles  
**Maranwe1 **- ducks head in shame I'm not doing the "it were" thing anymore - or at least not as often. Am I? I am trying very hard to remember... Then again, my memory is like a sieve, so... g I like both of your ideas. Aragorn could have done both, reckless and stupid man that he is. g Don't worry, baby, we still love you. pats ranger's head LOL, Glorfindel as Riddick is DEFINITELY an interesting idea. I liked Pitch Black, even though I didn't really like the ending. Don't ask me why, and I REALLY don't want eyes like that. Don't you think they're a tiny bit ... creepy? shudders slightly Yup, they definitely are.   
**AngelMouse5 **- O God, I am SO sorry. I was supposed to send you about a hundred chapters, wasn't I? wails Forgive me, please! I completely forgot! I didn't do it on purpose! These evil papers have really made my memory even worse somehow... Forgive me? Please? puppy dog eyes  
**LegolasGreenleafGil-Estel **- Your school has blocked ? That's evil! It really is! My college luckily hasn't ... not yet, anyway... g And I may write an "How Aragorn and Legolas met story", maybe as my next short story. Which should be sometime next year... g "Cwute little trolsses"? LOL, well you could say that, I guess - if you're slightly demented, that is. g wide-eyed Uhm, I'm sorry? For shooting Glorfindel, I mean? Trust me, it's for his own good. In a kind of twisted sort of way. You'll see. Thanks a lot for the long review!  
**Grumpy **- Thanks a lot for saying that you liked the fight scene. I am getting used to writing them (after four stories, it's kind of hard not to), but they're still not my favourite scenes. Not a lot of dialogue, I think that's it. shrugs Whatever. LOL, yes, maybe Elrond forgot Glorfindel's birthday. Who knows? Oh, and I liked Aragorn-the-tumbleweed. It's so very fitting, somehow. g  
**Crippled Raven **- Oh yes, post-it notes are useful little things. I can't use them since my cats think they're edible, but they're still rather nice. g And I don't think that's it's possible to underestimate Aragorn's stupidity. I mean, even though it's my story I sometimes just sit back and think "Wow, he really IS stupid, isn't he?" Reckless, stupid human. g You really like Boromir and Faramir? I hate them, at least in the movies. But no, that's not entirely correct. I hate Sean Bean, I only loathe that other one. evil grin Oh, well, Aragorn being one of the Dúnedain. Well, that's quite a long story. It all starts with Elros, Elrond's brother, who chose to be counted among Men. He became Númenor's first king, the island the Valar created to reward the Three Houses of the Edain for their services to the Firstborn. They blessed the Númenóreans with long life, but Elros' and his descendants' was even longer, because of their elven blood. When Númenor was destroyed, Elendil and a few other of the Faithful survived and founded realms in ME. So, Aragorn lives longer because he is a Dúnadan, but even longer than most since he is also of the royal line. Faramir and Boromir, however, are also Dúnedain, since they're Gondorians. Their blood isn't quite as "pure" (forgive me for using that term, I can't think of any other) as Aragorn's, but they are still Dúnedain, just like the Rangers of the North. frowns I hope that wasn't too confusing?   
**Uineniel** - Thanks! It's surprising how many people liked the little blackberry-incident. I didn't really think it that funny... g But I agree: The cliffy WAS quite evil. What can I say, I love them?! g Thanks a lot for reviewing!  
**Aratfeniel **- g I think they're all having a very bad day, to be honest. Then again, what did they expect? Stupid elves, really... g LOL, you're right, of course. Glorfindel is so grumpy because of the blackberry-incident. What are 16 or 17 years for an elf, after all? g   
**Gwyn **- Well, it's not really an aversion, I am not one of these people who find same-sex relationships repulsive or something. I have quite a few gay friends, and they're all wonderful and highly entertaining people. It's just that I can't see Tolkien (as a devoted Catholic) intending any of his characters to ... well, be homosexual. Except for Sam and Frodo all his other characters are rather straight. Well, yes, there ARE Maedhros and Fingon. Hmm, and also Túrin and that little episode with Saeros. And of course Túrin and Beleg, and Turgon and Finrod, AND... g Well, maybe I was wrong. If you like Erestor: He'll be in this chapter and the next, so read on!  
**Radbooks **- Uhm, yes, Glorfindel is in physical AND emotional pain, poor him. huggles unconscious elf lord I might actually write a "How Legolas and Aragorn met story", maybe after my next one. We'll see. About that floor/ground thing: I looked it up in my faithful dictionary (huggles dictionary), and it said that it could also mean, and I quote, "The ground on which people and animals move about". So, does that only count when you say "forest floor"? I honestly don't know, so please tell me! Maybe it IS an American-British English thing, I have no idea. But I will try to remember to use "ground" in the future. Thanks for telling me!  
**Vampy2k **- Yeah, they SHOULD have learned by now. I think they never will, stupid elves that they are. g Oh, Legolas will find Aragorn. Eventually. Not entirely in one piece maybe, but... evil grin  
**Lynn-G **- Yup, this takes place before AEFAE. Let me check my A/N ... ah yes, it takes place in III, 2952, meaning about 16 months before AEFAE. It's great that you like it so far. We aim to please. g It would be nice if the two of them actually made it back home in one piece one day, you're right! Oh no, now another plot bunny is clinging to my leg... evil glare Thanks a lot. g  
**Elvendancer **- LOL, the answer to that question is rather simple: I'd be dead. I think Elrond would kill me on the spot, or Hithrawyn or Thranduil, depending on who's faster. It's a rather scary thought now that you mention it... g   
**Tychen **- LOL, yes, poor Legolas. And poor Elrond. Poor everyone, I think. g And Aragorn really needs a bell, a big one. A cowbell, if somehow possible. Elrond needs at least a dozen valium if you ask me, btw. Or someone who restrains him. g Celylith and Elvynd might indeed have a lot to talk about. Maybe I'll let them meet in the next story... Elvynd and Celylith wince What? Don't you want to be in my stories? shakes head I don't get them, really...   
**Cosmic Castaway **- g You want to do what? Call Glorfindel Garfunkel? Somehow I really don't think our favourite golden haired elf lord would appreciate that in the slightest... g I have to admit there won't be any Legolas torture in here, 'cause trolls don't really TORTURE people. They just bang them up a little. evil grin And my balrog can beat your wizard, since it's a genetically modified one! Mhahahaha!   
**MIKI! **- Ha! I recognised you on the spot! huggles How are you? Where have you been? Did the sharks get you? (You do have them in Florida, don't you?) I hope not. I don't like sharks, not at all. And I may take you up on that! takes wet noodle and brandishes it threateningly Don't you dare vanish again! Maybe you should sleep first, though? Just a suggestion... g Great to 'see' you again! huggles again  
**Just Jordy **- hides evil grin I am NOT wearing an evil grin! Honestly! I would never mock my readers like that... evil grin Well, maybe I would. g I hope the ending wasn't TOO bad? shrugs This one is worse anyway. g  
**Nietta **- Yeah, that's what I thought, too. I really think I will write that "How they met story" someday. And I would REALLY not advise you to try anything at Glorfindel, least of all blackberry tarts. I think you might lose some ... limbs. g But yes, Aragorn IS a stupid, reckless ranger. Very much so, actually. g  
**LOTRFaith **- Hmm, this one was the first review I got. Perhaps ate it? It does that kind of thing all the time, so I wouldn't be surprised... Oh, this time they will definitely drag themselves back to Imladris, considering that it's only a few hourse aways and Mirkwood about a week. They're not THAT stupid, after all - at leats I think so. g   
**Celebdil-Galad And Tinlaure **- Oh dear, I think I forgot to reply to one of your emails. Please believe me that I didn't do it on purpose, but I've really been quite busy lately, with college and all that. At the moment it's really hard to concentrate on anything that's not taking place between 1150 and 1300. g Forgive me? It's quite nice to hear that you're enjoying this nevertheless, even though I have to admit that I have no idea who Michelle Branch is. Should I know her? LOL, and you're right. NO ONE listens to Elrond, EVER. Poor elf. pats his head  
**Bailey **- Hmm, the cliffy wasn't really "evil". I think the word you're looking for is "wicked". It's not really evil, the poor thing. g But you're right of course, Aragorn's and Glorfindel's wounds ARE quite bad. Poor them. evil grin  
**CrazyLOTRfan **- Aha! You're back! huggles Great to 'see' you! I missed you, really! At last, someone who likes cliffies just as much as I do... I hope the mosquitoes didn't suck out all your blood. They can be vicious little beasts... glares at imaginary mosquito LOL, cliff-o-rama. I like that. g And why did I just see? Are you kidnapping a certain grey-eyed, blond elf? Nah, I must have been mistaken ... you wouldn't do that, would you? g Poor Nólad! huggles again Great to see you again! And I wrote this cliffy just for you - honestly! nods fervently Really! Well, okay, I did it because of my evil alter ego, but still...  
  
**Thanks for all the wonderful reviews! Since I am currently spending all my time in the library, it's wonderful to come home and find a few review alerts in my inbox! **** Thanks! huggles reviewers**


	4. Where There's Smoke

**Disclaimer****:** For full disclaimer, please see chapter 1.  
  
  
**A/N:  
  
evil grin Yes, you're right, Glorfindel actually has a reason to be depressed now. I don't think he enjoys having a hole in him overly much... gives seething elf lord next to her a quick look Nope, doesn't look as if he's enjoying it at all. g I don't get it either. My alter ego thought it was hilarious... Then again, she IS kind of evil... g  
  
Some of you guys wondered whether or not the twins would actually wait at home and not go looking for their accident-prone brother and their equally accident-prone friend. I think they would, actually, but that's a matter of interpretation, I think. I try to keep them a little bit more book-verse (not as if they'd been in the movies, eh? evil glare at PJ), and I think they would obey their father - who also is their lord, one shouldn't forget that - if he orders them to stay in Rivendell - at least for now and until the sun has risen. Then, however, it may be another matter. shrugs Hey, that's just my interpretation. It's up to how how you interpret their characters. g  
  
One last thing: I'm going to go visit my friends in England for a few weeks, on Thursday. Yes, I know, AGAIN. I'm addicted to Bovril and mint sauce, I can't help myself. g Be that as it may, that shouldn't really be a problem, since I'm going to take my faithful laptop with me, and I even have a working adapter for the telephone socket, so I SHOULD be able to update on Friday or Saturday. Then again, we all know how much can go wrong, especially considering that the BT hates me, so please stay calm if I should be a bit late. I'll do my best to post the last chapter of this little story on Saturday though at the latest, I promise.  
  
  
Alright, so here's the next bit of this little chaotic tale. This time Legolas finds out why you should listen to your elders when they tell you NOT to attack four trolls at once, Elrond and Erestor have a little talk while Glorfindel is rather uncooperative for a half-dead, unconscious elf and the reckless human wakes up and even talks to Legolas. That's a good sign, right? One would think so. g  
  
Have fun and review, please!**

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Chapter 4   
  
  
He had to admit one thing: Trolls weren't quite as stupid as most people believed them to be. Most of the creatures were not even able to learn one of the main languages with which the rest of Arda communicated, but at least this lot possessed relatively quick reflexes, contrary to what Legolas might have hoped.   
  
'And they are rather flexible; don't forget flexible,' a small, wry voice inside his head muttered while he threw himself to the side, nearly crashing into Aragorn in the process. The large boulder that the troll which had first seen him had chucked at him missed him by inches, and Legolas realised that he might have overestimated the effect the loss of the trolls' hammers would have on them.   
  
On the other hand, the diversion was a complete success, that much was certain. The only reason why he hadn't been squashed already was that one of the trolls had moved over to the smouldering hammers and had tried to put out the fire. It hadn't been particularly successful; if anything, it had made matters only worse. The trolls' firewood was catching fire, too, and thick, grey smoke was beginning to fill the cave, too much for the small hole in the ceiling to handle, which was most likely why the trolls had trouble getting their hands on him.   
  
Legolas was still thinking that this had been about the only thing that had actually worked the way it had been supposed to work when he felt more than saw one of the huge creatures move his way. He had just scrambled to his feet when he was nearly swept off the same by a fist that was as big as his entire torso. Instead of falling to the floor he was thrown backwards, and a moment later his back met with sharp stones and exceedingly hard earth.   
  
For a moment, the elf was having trouble to decide whether he should try to breathe or simply drop to the floor in a graceless heap. In the end, the need for air won out and pushed the pain in his back and head back, and despite the feeling that his lungs had just been paralysed for good he began to gasp for air. The troll who had just nearly squashed him like a fly looked rather displeased that it had failed to kill him with its blow, but was apparently more than ready to try again.   
  
The towering creature in front of him drew back to deliver another blow, its face creased in a rather funny expression of concentration as it took aim carefully, and Legolas had drawn just enough air into his lungs to realise that he really should move unless he wanted to become part of the wall at his back. A second later the troll's fist made contact with the exact spot where Legolas had been, but that the elf had dropped to the ground once more, just in time to avoid the troll's blow.   
  
While Legolas had been busy with the troll who had wanted to pound him into the wall, however, one of its companions had managed to find its way over to them through the increasingly thick smoke that filled the cave. The elven prince might have managed to avoid the first troll, but he was by no means prepared to come face to face with a second one the moment he gained his feet.   
  
In the split second before he was sent flying across the cave Legolas merely stared at the large, scaly creature that was wielding a makeshift club with a malicious, evil expression on its face. A heartbeat later the large piece of firewood connected with the elf's right side and threw him backward, sending him crashing into the wall right next to Aragorn with a bone-jarring thud.   
  
For several moments, Legolas remained where he was, tried to force his rather uncooperative lungs to start working once again and asked himself why his plans never worked the way they had been supposed to. He still hadn't come to a conclusion when his attempts to draw as much oxygen into his lungs as possible were thwarted by a sudden, hacking cough, and only now Legolas realised that he was surrounded by thick, billowing smoke.   
  
He could hear the trolls roar and curse in their bellowing language, and not for the first time Legolas blessed the smoke. If he hadn't lit that fire, the trolls would have squashed him like a beetle a long time ago. A huge, scaly foot interrupted his thoughts and would nearly have hit him fully in the chest, but he managed to ignore his side that was sending stabs of pain through his body and rolled out of the way at the last moment. The troll cursed, but before it could catch sight of its prey again, Legolas had disappeared in a large cloud of smoke.   
  
This couldn't go on like this, Legolas decided while he was leaning against the wall a second later, panting for breath and desperately trying to hear where the four large creatures were at the moment. He had been lucky until now, but soon that wouldn't be enough anymore. The cave wasn't too big, and as soon as the trolls got over their fury and actually started searching the cavern instead of running around hoping to catch him by luck, he would be done for. They needed to get out of here before one of the large creatures squashed him – or Aragorn, for that matter – into a shapeless mass.   
  
A few moments later Legolas was once again on his feet, listening to the trolls' curses and shouts and peering intently through the thick, wafting clouds of smoke that had saved his life more than once now. He pressed his left, unhurt side against the wall to avoid one of the furious trolls and finally decided that Aragorn had to be somewhere behind him, and so he turned around and began to make his way over to his friend as quickly as he could.   
  
Explaining all this to Lord Elrond should be interesting, the elven prince thought wryly while he froze for a few seconds as another troll (it might, however, also have been the same) stomped by and he desperately suppressed a cough. The smoke was growing thicker and thicker, and while that was a good thing considering that it would hide him more effectively, it was also a not-so-good thing considering that elves (and more importantly, humans) needed air to survive.   
  
_'__Yes, well, you see, my lord, there was this cave, and I thought it to be a really clever idea to light a fire. It worked too – for the most part, that is. Yes, Estel was squashed by a troll that was searching for me, and he also suffocated a little because the smoke got too thick, and there **also **was that small matter of the wound he received because he saved my life, but other than that, he's fine. Yes, I brought him with me. Yes, you can go and see to him now. Just leave this room, follow the trail of blood and pick up the pieces that are left of him. Don't forget one of his hands; it came loose some time ago.'_  
  
Legolas would almost have laughed aloud at that ridiculous thought – no one in their mind would say something like this to the Lord of Rivendell, at least no one who wanted to survive. The irrational giggle which he inwardly attributed to pain, lack of air and mounting worry for Aragorn turned into a cough, a cough that turned out to be a big mistake.   
  
Almost immediately heavy footsteps shook the ground, and before Legolas could pump enough air into his lungs to be able to pay attention to anything but breathing two large, lumbering shapes entered his rather restricted field of vision, appearing out of the smoke like ugly, towering ghosts.   
  
That image was quickly dispelled by the rather solid hand that shot out and made a grab for him, and Legolas once again dropped to the floor, wincing with pain as his injured right side hit the ground and at the same time deciding that he was really getting tired of this. The troll's fingers missed his head by inches, but he hadn't moved quickly enough to avoid the large creature's grasp completely. A rock-hard, greyish hand closed around his arm, clamping down hard and lifting him off his feet and up into the air.   
  
Before he could even try to dislodge the hold the creature had on him, the second troll tried to reach for him, obviously unwilling to let its companion have all the fun alone. Legolas, however, was in no mood to be grabbed by a second troll, and even though the elf knew that it was most likely not going to be very effective he kicked out with both his legs.   
  
From what he could see through the billowing smoke, he hit the troll somewhere at his shoulder, feeling as if he had just kicked a solid stone wall. The beast appeared to be surprised more than anything else and fell back a little, its beady eyes squinting to get a closer look at the elf who apparently refused to let himself be killed and eaten. Legolas, however, did not care at all if he had actually hurt the troll or not, since he was at the moment rather busy avoiding the hand of the other troll who tried to get a firmer hold of him.   
  
The large creature missed him again and jerked at the elf's arm in frustration, bellowing a shout that was full of annoyance and anger. The elf in question was harbouring much the same feelings, and while the troll was still swinging him around like a doll, apparently hoping to smack its prey against a wall, Legolas reached up – or rather down, considering he was dangling from his left arm with his feet several inches above the ground – and managed to wrap his fingers around a knife hilt.   
  
Another annoyed tug at his arm made him very nearly drop his knife a moment later, but Legolas ignored the pain as best as he could and thrust the blade upwards. The creature's fingers opened on reflex and the elf dropped hard to the ground, the troll's pain-filled shriek filling him with quite a bit of satisfaction.   
  
Deciding that this was definitely enough now, the elf hugged his arm to his chest (which felt as if someone had just wrenched it out of its socket) and pushed himself to his feet, more than just a little bit annoyed now. Before either of the trolls could make an attempt to reach for him he had disappeared in the smoke again, finding that it had grown even thicker. He really needed to get out of here, the blond elf thought furiously, and soon at that, or…   
  
His train of thought was interrupted by a great, booming sound, a sound so loud that Legolas was almost sure that the ceiling was coming down – which would have been just his kind of luck now that he thought about it. The ground and the wall which he was using for orientation shook violently, and even through the thick smoke he could see dust and small stones rain down from the cave's ceiling.   
  
Legolas didn't stop to ponder this rather interesting occurrence (as far as he knew, caves very rarely behaved like this) but rather continued making his way over to where he thought Aragorn was lying. Quite a while before he had expected to reach his friend's side he all but stumbled over something soft, and only a quick grab for the wall saved him from a graceless fall. For a moment, Legolas' exhausted and pain-filled brain wondered if it was really Aragorn, but a soft moan that was almost inaudible over the roaring of the trolls quickly confirmed that he had indeed found the ranger.   
  
He fell to his knees, so relieved that he didn't even feel the pain that movement brought, and in the moment he reached out to touch what he thought to be the man's shoulder the cave shook again, this time more strongly. Legolas felt a sharp pain as a fist-sized boulder hit his already hurting left arm, and that was the moment he realised that he might have miscalculated slightly.   
  
The trolls wouldn't calm down, Legolas thought with a calmness that surprised even himself. That sound had been one of them hitting one of the walls of the cave in anger and frustration – that was what was causing the entire structure to shake. They wouldn't wait until their anger had subsided enough so they could search for them properly, nor would they leave the cave in order not to suffocate or burn. They would keep looking for them and hit anything that they could reach, and wouldn't care in the slightest if they brought the cave down upon all their heads in the process.   
  
The elf swallowed thickly and strained his watering eyes to pierce the choking smoke to be able to see Aragorn properly. This was not good. This was not good at all.   
  
The figure in front of him moaned again, this time more loudly, but Legolas saw quickly that it would take too long for Aragorn to regain his senses sufficiently to be of any help whatsoever. Not wasting his time trying to wake his semiconscious friend, Legolas seized the man's arm and pulled him to his feet, desperation and worry lending him new strength. They needed to get out, _now_, or they might very well not get out at all.   
  
"Come, my friend. You will be out of here in a moment, don't worry," he muttered in Elvish, hoping that the softly spoken words would somehow get through to the ranger. He slowly began to drag Aragorn over to the cave's entrance. It truly felt as if the man weighed at least as much as one of the trolls that were still furiously searching for them. "Help me to get you out of here. Come now, Estel, help me! Move! Your father and brothers are waiting for you back at Rivendell; you would not want to keep them waiting, now would you?"   
  
Legolas wasn't sure if Aragorn had truly understood his words, but it seemed to him as if he was now trying to carry as much of his own weight as possible. They were moving faster, but just as they had reached the tunnel that was leading out of the cave, a dark shadow appeared to their right. The elf was too surprised to move in time, and so a troll's fist hit him once again, this time in the chest.   
  
He crumpled to the ground on top of the man he had carried until now, in too much pain to move or even think, but while he was still watching the troll's fist come closer once more, the cave shook again, and this time it didn't stop. It appeared that the remaining trolls had all hit the same wall at the same time, frustrated by their inability to find the elf or even the man they had caught for dinner, and that was more than the cave's structure was able to take.   
  
The surprised shouts of the trolls were soon drowned out by the sound of falling stones and crumbling earth, and the look of pure astonishment on the face of the troll that had just been about to crush him was one that Legolas would remember for many years to come. A moment later the ground lurched to the side as the right part of the cave simply collapsed, and the troll towering over the two friends fell over onto its back, for a moment resembling an extremely ugly crab.   
  
The amount of falling stones grew even louder, and in the moment a large stone missed Legolas' head by inches, the elf came out of his trance. Spurred on by the sound of falling stones, Legolas was back on his feet in a second, his hair hanging in his eyes that were staring widely at the chaos around him. It was happening, he thought dazedly while dark, claustrophobic memories were resurfacing inside of him, it was really happening, this accursed cave was collapsing and would bury them alive! He would never see the stars again or even a single tree; they would be crushed by countless rocks and would forever…   
  
The short spell of panic was interrupted by a faint moan Aragorn uttered as a smaller rock hit him in the small of his back, and Legolas returned to the present instantaneously. Cursing himself for his own weakness and the power these memories still held over him Legolas bent down and grabbed the ranger's arm, pulling him to his feet as quickly as he could. Aragorn moaned again, this time most likely in protest against the pain that shot through his side at this rather abrupt movement, but Legolas didn't have the time to see if his friend was alright, because he had been right about one thing: The cave _was _collapsing.   
  
Looking back later, Legolas was sure that he had never before moved so quickly. All he would be able to remember of these few minutes he needed to get himself and Aragorn out of the cave were dust and smoke, and falling stones and the horrible feeling of being trapped underground. He regained his senses fully only after they had reached the entrance to the tunnel and were skidding down the path leading further down the hill, a huge cloud of smoke and dust following them as the rest of the cave collapsed.   
  
Legolas kept moving until he was absolutely certain that they were out of danger. At last he stopped and turned around slowly with one of his arms still slung around Aragorn's middle and his other gripping the man's left arm. Not even his elven eyes could pierce the thick cloud that had laid itself over the scene, but he couldn't hear anything but the almost inaudible sounds of settling stone and earth. The elf allowed himself a small sigh of relief. The trolls wouldn't be bothering anyone ever again.   
  
He was still staring at the billowing cloud of dust and smoke when a weak, soft voice brought him out of his thoughts, followed by a small cough.   
"S-s-smoke?"   
  
Legolas blinked, needing a moment to understand what was going on, but when he did his head whipped around, his eyes fixing on Aragorn's dust-covered face.   
"Aragorn!" he breathed while he lowered the man to the ground. "How do you feel? Aragorn!"   
  
The man's eyes opened rather unwillingly and stared unblinkingly at the elf's face which was now adorned by a few interesting bruises and broad streaks of soot.   
"Smoke?" he repeated, a little bit stronger. "Why … smoke?"   
  
Legolas grinned weakly while he shrugged out of his torn and now also rather dirty shirt and began to wrap it around the soaked bandage that covered the man's lower abdomen. He wouldn't rest easy until they had put some distance between them and this place, but before they could go anywhere he would need to stop the bleeding completely. The wound to Aragorn's side had started bleeding again some time ago, and if he didn't get it under control soon, he might as well stay here and wait for the orcs and wolves that would undoubtedly appear on the scene soon, because the end result would be the same: Aragorn wouldn't live to see the coming dawn.   
  
"Yes, smoke," he replied a little bit haughtily, trying to keep the worry and pain off his face that had awoken in his body. "There's nothing like a bit of smoke to divert someone's attention, wouldn't you agree?"   
  
The ghost of a smile flittered over the man's grey face before it was replaced by pain when Legolas put pressure on the wound to stop the bleeding.   
"I … feel .. like a … gammon."   
  
"Oh?" Legolas raised a soot-covered eyebrow, looking up from where he was pressing his shirt onto the bloody bandage covering his friend's middle. "Wonderful. It's a long way back to Rivendell; if worst comes to worst, I'll eat you."   
  
"Wood-elves … eat … smoked man-flesh?" Aragorn ground out, a mischievous twinkle in his pain-filled eyes.   
  
"Oh yes," Legolas nodded earnestly, glaring at the bit of blood that had soaked through his makeshift bandage. "All the time. It's wonderful with a wine sauce."   
  
"You … W-wood-elves … are … insane," the man shook his head slightly, obviously forcing himself not to push Legolas' hands away that were now wrapping the cloth around his wound.   
  
"So are you Noldor," Legolas shrugged with a small grin that belied his true feelings. It would take a long time to get this bleeding under control completely.   
  
"At least … we don't … take on … four t-trolls … alone. S-Stupid." Aragorn swallowed thickly and forced his eyes open once more. "Thank … you for … saving … me."   
  
"Always, _mellon nín_, and as often as you need it," Legolas smiled and quickly brushed a strand of hair out of the man's closing eyes. "And now rest. We still need to get you back to Rivendell."   
  
The young ranger didn't answer, even though Legolas could tell that he was still conscious, and the elf felt how the fear inside of him tightened its hold around his heart.   
  
He would indeed need to get Aragorn back to Rivendell soon. Very soon, or all with which he would be returning to Lord Elrond would be his son's body and a broken promise.

  
  
A minute stiffening of the body lying in the bed next to him was the only warning he received, but since he had been expecting it with a sort of weary acceptance, it was more than enough.   
  
With a speed that would have impressed anyone who knew that the elf lord hadn't slept this night at all and had spent hours trying to keep a friend from forsaking Arda once more, Elrond jumped forward and grabbed his golden haired friend's arm a split second before the flailing limb could hit him in the face. Even grievously wounded Glorfindel was strong, even for an elf, and Elrond had some trouble pressing the blond elf back onto the mattress and keeping him from harming himself – or him.   
  
After a few moments, Glorfindel began to calm down again, and Elrond carefully released the elf's wrists he had grabbed firmly – which turned out to be just a few moments too early. Before he could take a hold of the golden haired elf lord's hands again, Glorfindel had lashed out and hit him on the nose.   
  
Elrond cursed loudly, suddenly very thankful that he had dismissed the anxious healers and the other elves that had gathered just inside the room after the news of Glorfindel's injury had spread. After all, the Lord of Rivendell thought darkly while he once again tried to grab Glorfindel's left wrist, elf lords did not curse in public – not even when they were being mistreated by their feverish patients.   
  
An eternity later, the other elf's body stilled once more, but this time Elrond didn't release his hold on him so quickly. He waited for several more moments until he was completely satisfied that his friend's mind had returned to the deeper, more peaceful regions of unconsciousness, and he finally released his wrists and sat back in his chair. For a heartbeat, he remained where he was, studying the once again peaceful face of his friend.   
  
This was beginning to get tiresome, Elrond decided as he began to rub his temples in soothing circles, vainly trying to ignore the pounding headache that had manifested itself some hours ago. Even unconscious and weakened by blood loss Glorfindel was strong and apparently under the impression that it was more than acceptable to hit your lord and friend, and if it went on like this, he would be black and blue this time tomorrow.   
  
With an inward sigh the half-elf removed his fingers from his temples and leaned forward again, finally spying the piece of cloth that had been lying on his patient's forehead. Now it it lay on the floor. Deciding that he was really too exhausted to get up and retrieve it, Elrond picked up a new one from the stack sitting next to him on the nightstand, wetted it and placed it on the other elf's still too warm forehead.   
  
The fever should break soon, he told himself firmly while he was pushing the blankets to the side to see if Glorfindel's struggles had re-opened his wounds. Only very little fresh blood could be seen, and Elrond closed his eyes shortly and sent a quick prayer of thanks to the Valar for this small kindness.   
  
Even though they had cleaned the wounds as best as possible, it had still not been enough. A fever had taken hold of the body of his best friend, only aided by his already weakened state. They had realised what was going on and had begun to counteract whatever poison was lurking in the wounded elf's body, but he was still battling with its last effects. Some hours ago Glorfindel had started to experience apparently rather vivid – and unpleasant – dreams, and was still not showing any sign of calming down completely, even though the peaceful episodes between each violent nightmare seemed to become longer.   
  
Elrond placed his elbows on his knees and rested his chin on his folded hands, his eyes not leaving the blond elf's pale face. He had wanted to corner Glorfindel and force him to tell him what was wrong, but this was not exactly what he'd had in mind. A day ago he might have been delighted about a Glorfindel who couldn't assure him that everything was "just fine my lord, truly" and who was incapable of running away when he forced the issue, but now he was willing to take back every single word he might have said along these lines.   
  
Elrond sighed softly, thanking Ilúvatar that at least the twins were safe. Elladan and Elrohir had left only a few minutes ago, after telling him everything that had happened after Glorfindel had realised they were walking into a trap. They had also informed him that two of Elvynd's men had arrived shortly after they had, one of them with a minor wound to his leg but otherwise relatively uninjured. The dark haired captain, his two remaining warriors and Aragorn and Legolas were still not back, however, something that had awoken guilt and fear not only in his sons' hearts, but also in his own.   
  
The elf lord closed his eyes shortly, trying not to picture the wound Elrohir had described to him in detail over and over again, as if the painful recollection would in any way help him find or aid his younger brother. A wound to the left side – that was bad, even for an elf. For a man, it was worse, and if the weapon that had caused it was an orc scimitar, it was almost always a guarantee for an infection. Yes, Aragorn had Númenórean blood and was therefore less susceptible to illness and infection than most men, but he was also the single unluckiest person Elrond had ever seen. If there was a way his human son could possibly have developed an infection, he would have found it, that was one thing about which he was very sure.   
  
Maybe he should have sent out guards after all, Elrond mused darkly. Maybe he should have sent more warriors north, no matter whether it was still pitch-black outside or not. They could have found a trail, they could have helped those that were still missing or might even have…   
  
Elrond's guilty thoughts (for which he had earlier chastised his sons who had voiced much the same feelings) were interrupted by the sound of the opening door that swung almost soundlessly open, and the dark haired elf lord turned, a frown on his face that had to be attributed to equal parts to his worry and fear for Glorfindel, Aragorn and Legolas and the fact that he had given explicit orders that no one was allowed to visit Glorfindel until tomorrow evening at the very earliest. He had just opened his mouth to tell the unfortunate elf at the door what exactly he thought about disobeying your lord's orders when the elf in question simply stepped into the room without waiting to be invited, apparently rather unimpressed by the _look _on Elrond's face.   
  
Elrond closed his mouth without saying anything, both because the elf who had just entered the healing chambers was – with the possible exception of the twins – the only person whose company he would actually tolerate and because he wouldn't care anyway if he glared at him. Erestor never did, after all, not when he thought he was right.   
  
A moment later the other elf lord had reached the bed Glorfindel's still body was occupying and stopped next to it, his eyes fixed on the blond elf's white face. His costly robes looked as immaculate as always, but Elrond's keen eyes spied quite a few flower petals that clung to the cloth here and there which bespoke of the feast that was going on in the gardens.   
  
Loëndë was a feast that went on throughout the night, until the sun had risen. The Elves of Rivendell would still be celebrating it for many hours to come, something that Elrond didn't begrudge them in the slightest. There were precious few things happening lately that called for merrymaking and feasts, and his people deserved every single ray of light in this swiftly darkening world.   
  
"Erestor," he finally said with a small nod.   
  
The dark haired elf shook his head, apparently for the first time noticing that there was someone else in the room as well.   
"My lord," he gave Elrond a small bow. If he noticed the slowly darkening bruise on his lord's nose, he was too polite to comment on it. "I gave the speech as you instructed. The feast is going on as merrily as possible under these circumstances."   
  
The half-elf smiled softly and nodded his head.   
"I thank you, Erestor."   
  
Erestor inclined his head minutely, his eyes once again straying to Glorfindel's motionless form.   
"Your sons informed me that he was doing … well, everything considered?"   
  
The worry and fear was plain to hear in the councillor's voice, and so Elrond was quick to reassure him.   
"Yes," he nodded with far more confidence than he truly felt. "His fever should break any time now, and once that happens he will be just fine. You know how stubborn he is; he will be on his feet and annoying all of us in a matter of days."   
  
Erestor closed his eyes for a moment and released a sigh, sinking down onto the empty chair next to the blond elf's bed without even seeming to notice.   
"Thank the Valar," he breathed softly. "I feared for him, I really did. I cannot even remember all the times he has come back from patrolling the borders with one wound or another, but this time…"   
  
"I know," Elrond nodded seriously. "It looked bad."   
  
"No, my lord," Erestor shook his head, a dark, somewhat haunted expression in his eyes that reminded the other elf once again of the fact that he and Glorfindel were indeed good friends. "The wound did not simply look bad, it looked mortal. When I saw him with that arrow in his chest, I was sure that he would die."   
  
"So was I," Elrond admitted softly. "He very nearly did die, both after we had pulled out the arrow and when the fever first set in. I very nearly couldn't stop the bleeding; a few more minutes, and he would have been beyond aid."   
  
"Then I thank the Valar that your sons reached you when they did, my lord," Erestor replied with a faint smile. "Eru knows that I want to kill that annoying excuse for an elf on three days out of four, but I believe I would miss him and his infuriatingly merry nature."   
  
"We would all miss him," Elrond agreed, "Even though he can be arrogant, vexing and completely insufferable." He fell silent for a moment while he reached out to check his patient's pulse, but then he raised his head and looked at Erestor, his eyes dark and worried. "Has there been any news?"   
  
Erestor needn't be told what his lord was aiming at, and so he nodded his head swiftly.   
"Yes, my lord, forgive me. That was the reason why I came in the first place. Captain Elvynd and the rest of his men arrived half an hour ago. They have a few cuts and bruises, but are otherwise just fine, only a little exhausted. The reinforcements that were sent north met with them a few miles outside the valley's border and supplied them with horses and an escort back here."   
  
He hesitated a moment when he saw the anticipatory expression on Elrond's face.   
"There has, however, been no news of Estel or the prince. Elvynd claims that they got away before the second troupe of orcs reached them and that they were heading north, but they had neither the time nor the opportunity to find out anything more specific before they had to retreat as well."   
  
"I see," Elrond nodded emotionlessly. "It is good to hear that Elvynd and the others are safe."   
  
"Estel and the prince will be fine, too," Erestor stated with quiet conviction. "Neither of the two would allow any harm to befall the other, you know that."   
  
"No," the half-elf nodded darkly, "They would not. My sons would not have allowed any harm to befall Glorfindel either – if they had had any control over what was happening, which they did not. Aragorn is already wounded, and even though Thranduil's son may be many things, he is not a healer. That they aren't back yet can't be a good sign, and you know it."   
  
"Then what should you have done?" Erestor asked pragmatically. "Send out search parties? Or more guards to join the northern patrols?"   
  
"Yes," Elrond nodded quietly once more. "That is what I should have done."   
  
"No, my lord, you shouldn't have, and that is something _you _know," Erestor smiled slightly, being very familiar with Elrond's habit (and his sons', for that matter) of blaming himself for things he couldn't have changed or influenced. "It would have availed nothing. To travel in the darkness anywhere near the Coldfells is folly or suicide. It would have served no purpose to risk the lives of good warriors in such a manner."   
  
Elrond raised his gaze from the floor and narrowed his eyes at the other elf, but finally sighed and shook his head when his _ look _failed to show any effect whatsoever.   
"You are right, _mellon nín_. But to sit here and do nothing while they are out there, alone, surrounded by orcs and the Valar know what other hostile creatures is…"   
  
Before he could finish his sentence, the part of him that was still closely supervising his unconscious friend noticed the subtle signs that preceded another especially violent dream, and he had just enough time to realise that this had been the longest period of time between two such seizure-like states before the dreaming elf started to move violently once more. Elrond managed to grab the blond elf's wrist in time, but Erestor seemed to be rather surprised by Glorfindel's sudden movement, and he managed to restrain the golden haired elf's left arm only after a rather hard blow had connected with his midsection.   
  
"My lord?" he asked, a terrified sparkle in his eyes as he pressed his friend back onto the mattress. "Elrond? What is happening?!"   
  
"It is alright," Elrond tried to reassure the elf who was looking from Glorfindel to him with wide, frightened eyes. "He is simply dreaming. He will calm down soon."   
  
"This is alright?" Erestor repeated with a slightly trembling voice, reminding Elrond of the fact that he had close to no training in the healing arts. "By Elbereth's stars, it certainly does not look alright!"   
  
"It is just a nightmare, because of the fever," Elrond shook his head, using his free hand to push sweaty strands of gold hair out of the dreaming elf's tightly closed eyes. "Stop fighting, Glorfindel," he added softly, not really knowing whether or not his friend would be able to hear him. "You are safe. Stop fighting. Nothing will hurt you."   
  
It appeared that the blond elf had heard the softly spoken Sindarin words, for he shook his head from side to side, still caught in feverish dreams.   
_"Lá … aranya … lá … Turucáno … Ecthelion … lá…"_   
  
Elrond blinked, surprised as he had rarely been in his long life as he recognised the name of the High King Turgon, the king his friend had served before his city, everything he had known and he himself had died. The other name the blond elf had uttered with such a tortured expression on his face was familiar to him as well, as it would have been to most elves: Ecthelion of the Fountain had been the elf lord who had battled Gothmog, the Lord of the Balrogs, in the very square of the king in a vain attempt to save his king's life.   
  
The elf and Morgoth's fire-demon had slain each other, but Turgon's tower had been overthrown nonetheless and the king and what had been left of his household had been killed in its fall. The golden haired elf never spoke of it, but even so Elrond knew that Ecthelion had been Glorfindel's friend in Gondolin. He had, however, never fully imagined that Glorfindel must have watched his friend die that horrible day his entire world had been destroyed.   
  
Glorfindel was speaking Quenya, the old language the Noldor had brought with them from Valinor, but with a peculiar cadence that marked Elrond's earliest childhood memories. When his father had been talking to Elros and him in the old tongue, he had spoken with exactly the same accent.   
  
"Glorfindel," he gripped the arm he held a little bit more tightly, mindful of the other's injuries. "Glorfindel, listen to me. Gondolin is fallen. There is no need to fight anymore. It is over, my friend. It is over; it has been over so long that not even the place where it once stood exists anymore. Let it go."   
  
Glorfindel shook his head again, appearing amazingly firm and determined for a dreaming person.   
_"Lá, Itarillë … á etelehta yondolya ar nossëlva, herinya … á hehta…"_   
  
Elrond traded a quick look with Erestor, who, for once, appeared to be just as clueless as he himself felt. To hear his friend plead with someone who had passed into the West a long time ago was difficult to say the least, and the fact that that someone had been his own grandmother somehow only served to make everything even more difficult.   
  
The half-elf ground his teeth and let go of Glorfindel's arm, not at all caring if he got hit again because of it. He cupped his friend's face and looked at him intently, willing him to leave his dark dreams behind.  
  
"Hear me, my friend. You did it. You saved them. Your people reached the Eagle's Cleft. They escaped, because you stayed and fought for them. Idril, Tuor and their son are safe. Come back to us now, Glorfindel. It is over. Please, my friend. Wake up."   
  
After a breathless moment, the blond elf's body collapsed back onto the bed, and Elrond was already reaching out with a slightly shaking hand to check his friend's pulse when Glorfindel slowly opened his eyes, the feverish look in his glazed blue eyes being slowly replaced by bone-deep exhaustion.   
"My lord?" he whispered quietly, confusion on his pale face. "My Lord Turgon?"   
  
Elrond blinked away the tears that were gathering in his eyes when he heard Glorfindel speak his great-grandfather's name in such a manner, as if he were hoping that his memories had been nothing but a dream.   
"Almost," he smiled softly and gently reached out and covered his friend's eyes with his hand, forcing him to close them. "Sleep, Glorfindel. You need rest. Sleep…"   
  
The other elf's breathing evened out a moment later as exhaustion finally caught up with him, and Elrond let his hand wander up to his friend's forehead. He sighed in relief as he realised that the fever had fallen slightly. Elrond allowed himself to fall back into his chair, feeling at least as exhausted as Erestor looked.   
  
The dark haired advisor was leaning back in his chair as well, looking a little overwhelmed.   
"I never thought about it," Erestor said after a few moments of silence. "Not really, anyway. What it must have been like for him; to lose everything and everyone on a single day."   
  
"Many would not have survived it," Elrond nodded, only to add darkly, "Then again, neither did he."   
  
"Do you think this is why he was acting so peculiarly, my lord?" the other elf asked, gingerly reaching out and placing a long, slender hand on Glorfindel's forehead, as if not really being sure whether this was the right thing to do or not.   
  
"A part of it surely is," Elrond nodded again. "But it still doesn't explain why he has been avoiding me these past weeks."   
  
Unless Glorfindel blamed him for his death, he added inwardly. It was a horrible thought, and one he did not entertain gladly, but it was a possibility. Glorfindel had died to save Turgon's daughter Idril, her husband Tuor and their son – Eärendil, his father. Perhaps he was indeed blaming him in their stead. The mere idea that his best friend could feel like that made nausea rise inside of him in an instant.   
  
"Then," Erestor smiled as he withdrew his hand slowly, "You should ask him when he awakes. He will awake, won't he?" he added anxiously.   
  
"Yes, of course he will," Elrond smiled reassuringly. "His fever has broken. He will sleep for many hours now, but he should wake this evening at the latest. I am very confident that he will recover soon."   
  
"The Valar be praised," the dark haired advisor said, looking as if he meant every word of it. He gave the dark sky that was visible through the large window behind them a quick look and frowned slightly, looking from Elrond and Glorfindel to the window and back again. "I am afraid I have to return to the feast now, at least for a little while. I promised Lindir that I would be there when he begins his new ballad, and there are about a thousand elves who want to be informed if Glorfindel's condition changes at all and…"   
  
"Go then, my friend," Elrond's smile widened. "One of us has to be at the festival after all. I am in your debt."   
  
"No, my lord," Erestor shook his head seriously while he looked down at Glorfindel's sleeping form. "You are not." A moment later he returned his eyes to his lord and gave him a brief nod. "May I return in a few hours, my lord?"   
  
"Of course you may," Elrond returned the nod. "Once again, thank you."   
  
Erestor merely nodded again and turned around, and within seconds he was gone. The next few minutes went by quickly while Elrond made sure that Glorfindel's frantic movements hadn't resulted in fresh bleeding and that he was truly sleeping this time.   
  
The Lord of Rivendell finally returned to his seat, and frowned heavily while his hands idly smoothed the blankets that covered his friend's still body, Glorfindel's feverish words still ringing inside his head.   
  
It truly seemed that they had a lot to talk about.

  
  
It was truly most peculiar, Legolas thought while he avoided the sixth near-collision this hour, this time with a tree that seemed to have sprung out of the ground without any warning whatsoever. Just when you thought that it couldn't get any worse or that the worst was in fact over, fate delighted in showing you – as unambiguously and painfully as possible – how very wrong you had been.   
  
In their case, Legolas went on darkly, they had got lost almost as soon as they had left the collapsed troll-cave behind, something that did not really surprise him all that much now that he thought about it. He was carrying Aragorn who was barely conscious by now, and had to make sure that the man didn't fall or stumble, and had therefore had little time or strength to pay their surroundings the required attention.   
  
There was, of course, also the fact that he felt as if a horde of trolls had bashed him against a stone wall, which just happened to be the truth. His left arm was surely cracked, judging by the throbbing pain that did not even abate much when he kept it still – which was more than could be said about his ribs. His entire right side hurt in a way with which he was very familiar, and the stabs of pain that went through his chest every time he took a deep breath told him in an unambiguous way that at least a few ribs weren't only cracked, but rather broken.   
  
His thoughts were redirected to his companion when he pulled him up a little to prevent him from sliding out of his grasp, eliciting a soft moan of pain from him.   
"Forgive me, my friend," Legolas said automatically, surprised how weary and exhausted his voice sounded. "Not much further now, I promise…"   
  
He trailed off, realising that he was talking nonsense. He had no idea where they were, and the only thing of which he was certain at the moment was that they were still going in the right direction, namely south. Legolas pressed his lips together and trudged on, vainly trying to increase his speed. He was having no problems piercing the blackness that was still lying heavily on the lands, but since he had to both carry Aragorn and make sure they didn't fall, he couldn't risk going any faster – not that his own hurting body would have allowed that course of action in the first place.   
  
For a few more minutes, he merely concentrated on steering both of them down the rather steep, stony path that circumvented a large, wooded area that would have cost them at least two hours – two hours they didn't have. Aragorn was becoming more and more listless, and even though the bleeding might not have become much worse, it also hadn't become less. Blood was still seeping through the makeshift bandage, and Legolas was only too painfully aware of the fact that he had nothing more he could use to staunch the blood flow.   
  
His over shirt and shirt were already wrapped around Aragorn's waist, both garments now soaked with blood. Their packs containing the healing herbs and bandages (for which he would given his right arm at the moment) were with their horses, which had either been eaten by the orcs or were already back at Rivendell.   
  
The elf was praying silently that their mounts had escaped the foul creatures when a part of the path beneath their feet crumbled sideward under their combined weight, nearly throwing them to the ground. Aragorn's weight would nearly have pulled Legolas down with him, but the elven prince managed to grab his friend more firmly just in time and pulled him back, therefore avoiding a potentially very uncomfortable fall.   
  
Legolas breathed a sigh of relief, his heart pounding inside his chest, but that feeling turned quickly into worry when he realised that his friend hadn't reacted at all to this little near-tumble down the path, not even when he had grabbed him tightly. The worry was quickly replaced by something that could only be described as panic when the elf turned to the side and tipped his friend's head up.   
  
The faint moonlight that trickled through the thick canopies of the trees left and right of the path served to make the young ranger's face appear only paler, and what was visible of his half-closed eyes was dark and glazed. His lips were bloodless and pressed together tightly so that they looked like a thin, white line, and if he was aware of what was going on around him, he certainly did not show it.   
  
Fear so bright that it physically hurt him stabbed through Legolas' heart, and he realised with sudden clarity that Aragorn would never make it to Rivendell if he didn't do something. Now. The fair haired elf tore his eyes away from the man's face and looked about him wildly, as if expecting a tent with healing utensils to fall out of the dark sky. None did, of course, and Legolas turned back to his companion with a heavy heart. He didn't know where they were exactly, but he was sure that Aragorn did.   
  
"Aragorn," he called softly and shook him, harder than he would have liked. "Aragorn, awake! You must help me, my friend. Where are we? Is there a shelter somewhere close by, something that you use in cases of emergency or during a hunt? Something where you keep blankets and firewood, things like that?"   
  
Aragorn showed no sign that he had heard the elf's words, and so Legolas reached out and forced him to look at him, panic beginning to shoot through him when he saw the ranger's listless eyes.   
"Estel!" he said sharply. "Look about you! I know there is a shelter close by; your father is too wise an elf not to have set up such hideouts around here. Help me, _mellon nín_! Tell me where we are and I promise you that you can rest as soon as we get there! Do it not, and I will not stop annoying you!"   
  
For a few moments, Legolas thought that Aragorn had not heard him, but then the man blinked and forced his eyes fully open. A second later he raised his chin and gave their surroundings a glazed look.   
"North … of … Rivendell…" he finally mumbled softly.   
  
Even despite the seriousness of the situation, Legolas smiled and nodded his head.   
"Yes," he replied wryly. "I had already gathered as much. Where are we, Aragorn? Think! You know the answer!"   
  
"Sound … like … Erestor," the man muttered, his voice a little bit stronger now that he had become more aware of his surroundings.   
  
"If you say so, _mellon nín_." Legolas forced himself to remain patient even despite the growing worry and urgency in his heart. "Where is the next shelter, Estel? Answer me or I will have you write 'Bleeding on your companion is not acceptable behaviour', using both Cirth and Tengwar and at least a thousand times each."   
  
"Just … like Erestor," Aragorn nodded to himself, but he raised his head a little more and scrutinised the path. "Down the path … t-then … left. A … cave, hidden behind … a curtain of … ivy."   
  
"How far away is that cave?" Legolas asked, already beginning to move again. "Is it far? Estel? Answer me, is it far away?"   
  
The man shook his head, his eyes closing once more.   
"No … not far."   
  
He fell silent again, leaving Legolas to ponder what exactly the young man considered to be "far" or "near". He had the nagging suspicion that Aragorn measured distances in the way his brothers did, and if that was the truth, "not far" could mean anything from a hundred yards to a hundred miles, depending on the circumstances and to whom they were talking.   
  
In the end, neither was the case, something for which the elf was intensely grateful. After about six hundred yards the path ended, sloping to the right and disappearing abruptly behind a large, towering oak. Legolas wondered if Aragorn had perhaps been mistaken, not seeing a way how he should be able to go left here, but then he saw an almost invisible path leading over to the left, nothing more than a small space between a row of trees and the hillside.   
  
The path was narrow and almost invisible even to Legolas' sharp eyes, and when they finally reached the cave entrance, the elf felt ready to drop. He shook his head, hoping that it would help to push back the exhaustion that was once again spreading inside of him – it only made him feel dizzy, though – and quickly pushed the ivy to the side. He bent down as far as he could with his arm wrapped around Aragorn's waist and peered warily into the small space behind the green curtain of leaves.   
  
There was nothing even remotely dangerous in the small cave, which could in fact only be called tiny. Right now Legolas wouldn't even have cared if there had been a colony of spiders, a troupe of orcs or a couple of dragons, and so he began to manoeuvre his friend through the small entrance after giving the cave's interior only the most cursory glance.   
  
After lowering the man to the floor as gently as possible, Legolas straightened back up and gave the cave a closer look. It was truly tiny, no more than perhaps thirty square feet, and the ceiling was so low that Legolas' head almost touched it. There was, however, a stack of firewood to his left with a few thick blankets sitting right next to it, a sight that awoke the very vivid urge to sing in the elf's heart.   
  
For a few moments, Legolas contemplated lighting a fire, but then he decided against it; he was not really sure how safe they were here. He would need light, however, at least if he wanted to truly see what he was doing, and so he finally contented himself with lighting a small torch that lit the cave well enough but would – hopefully – not be seen from outside.   
  
The elven prince forced the burning piece of wood into a small fissure in the stone to his left and returned to the pile of blankets on the other side of the cave. After a brief moment of hesitation, he took all of them and brought them back to where he had left Aragorn. Giving the pale, apparently unconscious man a quick look, he began to rip the first blanket into long strips, and then also the second.   
  
As soon as a large, orderly pile of makeshift bandages was lying next to him, Legolas returned his attention to the motionless man in front of him, his hard-won composure threatening to abandon him once more when he saw the blood-soaked piece of cloth that had once been his shirt. He was already reaching out to remove it when he remembered what the healers at his father's palace had always said when talking about the treatment of a patient with high blood loss, namely that removing an already soaked bandage was generally a stupid idea. Not cleaning the wound wouldn't immediately kill someone, not even one of the Second People, but not stopping the blood flow would.   
  
Legolas took a deep breath and nodded to himself while he was folding a few of the strips into a thick pad. He only had to stop the bleeding completely, nothing more. Rivendell was only a few hours away, and if Aragorn really developed an infection, they would already be there. Lord Elrond would be able to help him then, but for that he would need to get the man there alive. If he didn't get the wound to close, infection would be the least of Aragorn's problems.   
  
With a quick prayer that this was indeed the right thing to do, Legolas took the pad and pressed it onto the wound, putting as much pressure on it as he dared. Blood began to seep through the material, quickly turning the grey strips a murky red colour, and Legolas reached for more strips, still pressing down hard onto the wound.   
  
A groan of pain alerted him to the fact that Aragorn was returning to consciousness – the man was choosing the worst possible time for it, as always, Legolas thought darkly. The young ranger slowly opened his eyes while Legolas was adding more strips to the pad he was pressing onto the wound, the grey orbs dark and glazed with pain.   
  
"What…?"   
  
"Don't move," Legolas commanded sternly, watching the bandages beneath his hands with the eyes of a hawk. It was taking more time to soak through this time, he decided firmly. It was, really. At least he thought so.   
  
Aragorn blinked, his hands automatically reaching down to touch the wound that was sending waves of pain through his entire body, but one of Legolas' blood-covered hands caught his wrists and pushed them back up.   
"Don't move," the elf repeated, his other hand still pressing down hard onto the wound. "Please, Aragorn, lie still. I need to stop the bleeding, or you will…"   
  
"Die," the man finished the elf's sentence faintly. "Yes … I know."   
  
"You are _not _going to die," Legolas shook his head firmly, adding even more strips to the bundle he was pressing against his friend's lower abdomen. "I won't let you."   
  
"All men … die, Legolas," Aragorn ground out past gritted teeth. "Sooner … or … later."   
  
"But not with twenty-one," the elf replied curtly, his eyes returning to the wound. "You will not die, Aragorn. Don't even try it; I will not allow it."   
  
"Well, it would … have a … c-c-certain symmetry," the man retorted, suppressing a groan of pain as the elf increased the pressure even more.   
  
"Symmetry?" Legolas repeated, eager to keep the man talking. As much as he hated seeing him in this much pain he thought it better if he didn't return to sleep under these circumstances. "What do you mean?"   
  
"Oh, my grandfather died … close to here," Aragorn retorted lightly, his eyes staring at the ceiling. "Slain by … hill-trolls, in the Coldfells."   
  
"What was his name?" the elf asked, diverting his attention between the wound and his friend.   
  
"A-Arador," the young ranger gasped as another stab of pain went through him. "Arador, son of Argonui. He died young too, at … at least for one of … the Dúnedain. Almost as … young as … my human father."   
  
Legolas looked up from the bandage he was pressing on his friend's wound, the worry and fear in his heart even multiplying. Aragorn's injury was serious indeed, and all this talk about dying would most certainly not help matters.   
"Just because Arathorn and his father died young, it does not mean that you will, Aragorn," he told the man firmly, staring intently at him. "My grandfather died in War of the Last Alliance, but that doesn't mean that my father or I will die before the Dark Tower."   
  
"It's not … the same, Legolas," Aragorn shook his head weakly.   
  
"Yes, it is," the elf claimed stubbornly. "Now lie still and let me work, and don't even think about joining your ancestors."   
  
"No, we wouldn't want … that to happen, now … would we?" Aragorn asked wryly, pain etched into every single line of his face.   
  
Legolas didn't answer immediately, for his eyes were fixed firmly on the pieces of cloth beneath his hands. He had added this last strip more than half a minute ago, and the blood hadn't soaked through yet. The elf increased the pressure he was putting on the wound a little more, not allowing himself to feel relieved in the slightest. He would wait a minute or two to make sure, and then he would try and strap the pad tightly in place. After that Aragorn would need a few more hours of rest before they could set out for Rivendell once more, and only when they had crossed the Last Homely House's gates he would allow himself to feel relief.   
  
"Your ancestry is nothing of which you would have to be ashamed, my friend," he finally said, his eyes straying from the still grey bandage to Aragorn's equally grey face.   
  
Something that, under different and less painful circumstances, would most probably have been a laugh could be heard from the man in front of him, and a moment later a dark silver eye was opened, contempt and sadness visible in it.   
"Of course not," Aragorn said darkly. "My …. ancestors were … weak and greedy … and hungry for power. Through their … folly this world is darkening once more, and," he paused for a moment, "I will end … just like them."   
  
Legolas did not react at all, and only his eyes grew a little wider. Even though they had known each other for only a year, he had always thought he knew Aragorn's heart – or most of it. After their memorable first meeting, though, they had rarely spoken about the man's heritage and ancestry, and even though he had been suspecting it, it shocked the elven prince to hear such words from his friend now.   
  
The fair haired elf looked down on the human whose eyes had closed once again. His entire being screamed at him to set this right, to tell the man that what he was saying was not the truth, but he really didn't think that a simple "No, you will not, now stop talking nonsense" would solve the problem.   
  
Deciding on another course of action, he finally narrowed his eyes and stared at the ranger.   
"I thought you respected Lord Elrond and his family more than this, _dúnadan_. To insult the one who has taken you in is nothing more than ungratefulness."   
  
Aragorn's eyes flew open just as he had thought, indignation and anger pushing the pain aside for the moment.   
"Just what are you implying?" he asked, his voice firm and hard.   
  
"You said your forefathers were weak and power-hungry," Legolas returned nonchalantly, trying not to wince when Aragorn speared him with something that looked suspiciously like Lord Elrond's _look_. "How could it not be an insult to the Lord of Rivendell when you speak about his ancestors like this? You and he share the same ancestry, Aragorn. Personally I think that that calling Elu Thingol or Lúthien Tinúviel or Beren One-handed, or Finwë, Fingolfin his son, Eärendil son of Tuor or any other of your ancestors weak or power-hungry is rather hilarious. Most, however, would simply call it insulting."   
  
"That is not what … I meant," Aragorn glared darkly at the elf, his injury forgotten for the moment. "You … know that."   
  
"Maybe," Legolas nodded. "But it is what you said."   
  
"I meant my _human _forefathers," Aragorn clarified darkly, too angry to even notice that Legolas was beginning to wrap the rest of the bandages around his side and hip. "They…"   
  
"The last time I heard the Lay of Leithian, Beren was very much human," Legolas interrupted the man sharply. "So was Tuor, now that you mention it."   
  
Aragorn opened his mouth to say something, from the looks of it something rather uncomplimentary that would most likely have ended in a Dwarvish curse, but a sudden stab of pain took his breath away. His face turned an interesting shade of greyish-white as Legolas pulled the bandage a little tighter and he clamped his eyes shut, biting down on his lower lip to prevent the scream from escaping that was rising inside of him.   
  
Legolas' sharp ears had no trouble hearing the man's muffled sounds of pain, but he only pressed his lips together and continued with his work. A few moments later he tied off the end of the last bandage, giving his blood-covered hands and arms only a cursory look before he returned his eyes to his human friend.   
"Estel? I am sorry, but I had to do it as tightly as possible. Just lie still and the pain will diminish soon. I promise."   
  
An almost imperceptible nod was the only sign that the man was conscious and had heard his words, and Legolas allowed himself a tiny sigh of relief while his hands were idly brushing strands of dark hair out of the younger being's face.   
"This is what has been bothering you lately, isn't it?" he asked softly, thinking back to the small incident with the Númenórean carving when the man had behaved so peculiarly. "You fear to become like your forefathers. You fear to make the same mistakes they have."   
  
For a moment, he thought that Aragorn had lost consciousness again, but then he struggled to open his eyes and nodded once more.   
"Yes," he said softly. "Their … blood is in … my v-veins. How could I be … different?"   
  
"So is the blood of Elros Tar-Minyatur or Idril Celebrindal. There is no difference." Legolas shook his head slowly. "I mean it, reckless human. It's just the same."   
  
Aragorn didn't answer, and so Legolas sighed softly, his eyes travelling quickly to the bandage to ascertain that it was still blood-free.   
"Listen to me closely for once, Aragorn, son of Arathorn," he began insistently, seeing to his satisfaction that Aragorn's eyes were open and alert. "I don't care who your ancestors were. I think your heritage is a proud and noble one, but what I think is of no consequence. Answer me one question: Have you changed so much his past year?"   
  
The man frowned and finally shook his head, clearly not being able to see what Legolas was trying to tell him.   
"I … don't think so."   
  
"Nor do I," Legolas confirmed. "You are still as reckless and thick-headed as you were when we first met. Don't you see it, reckless human? You are the same as you were when you were simply Estel, son of Elrond. Being Aragorn, son of Arathorn doesn't change anything, least of all who you are."   
  
The elf leaned forward a little, his eyes dark and serious.   
"Your forefathers were for the most part good and noble people, Aragorn. Without them the Valar would never have arisen against Morgoth Bauglir, and your father's and brothers' people would still be prohibited to sail to Valinor if they wish it. And I may not know as much about the Men of Westernesse as you do, but even in my home the tale is told how, when all hope had already seemed lost, the Men of Númenor came to Middle-earth in their tall ships and drove the armies of Sauron before them like cattle! If they hadn't come, not even the might of your father and the High King Gil-galad would have been enough to keep Sauron at bay for much longer and all of Eriador and Lindon would have been conquered ."   
  
Aragorn still didn't say anything, which Legolas decided to take as a good sign. Seeing the still somewhat dubious look on the man's face, the elf couldn't help but smile. It was sometimes really amazing how much like the twins this young one looked from time to time.   
  
"But even if your ancestors hadn't been what they were, it would make no difference for you. You are not bound by their deeds, Aragorn. You decide your own fate; it doesn't matter who your ancestors were, _ mellon nín_. Not to me, and not to anyone else that matters. And," he added softly, "it also shouldn't matter to you."   
  
"Maybe it shouldn't," the man nodded softy. "But … but it does."   
  
"And that is one of the reasons why, one day in the future, you will be a great leader," Legolas' smile widened a little. "Not right now, though. Now you need to rest. I want to leave in an hour or so – if you can restrain yourself from starting to bleed again, that is."   
  
"I will … try," Aragorn nodded once more, something on his lips that – with a bit of imagination – could have been called a smile, even despite the pain on his face.   
  
"That is all I ask," Legolas inclined his head. "Now sleep."   
  
It was obvious that there was something sarcastic or even cynical on the tip of the man's tongue, but before he could articulate it the pain and exhaustion caught up with him, and even despite all his struggles to keep them open his eyes were beginning to slide shut. Within half a minute Aragorn had lost the fight to stay awake, and Legolas leaned forward again, once again checking the bandage.   
  
There was no fresh blood, something that caused the elf's smile to grow to even more improbable proportions, and so he sat back again, gazing at the pale, sleeping human next to him. Aragorn didn't appear to be quite as pale anymore, but Legolas knew that was most likely only his imagination that was trying to reassure him that his friend would be alright.   
  
His first instinct was to leave now, to get the man back to Rivendell as soon as possible, but the more reasonable part of him was telling him insistently what a stupid idea that would be. It was far safer to stay here for an hour or two to see if there would be any more bleeding and to give Aragorn the chance to rest a little. As long as the bleeding stayed under control, he should be alright until he could get him back to his foster father. An hour or two wouldn't matter; besides, the chances that they would meet with a patrol would be greater if they stayed here a little longer.   
  
There were an awful lot of words involved in this which he didn't like, Legolas thought darkly as he leaned back against a stone wall, cradling his throbbing ribs with his uninjured arm. Words like "should", "would" and "maybe"; words that brought to his attention how little he knew about how to tend humans who had suffered such wounds and how much could still go wrong.   
  
At least Aragorn's heart and mind rested a little easier now, or so he hoped. Every word he had told him had been meant exactly the way he had said it, and he hoped that even if Aragorn didn't accept his words as the truth immediately, he would at least understand that he had meant them sincerely.   
  
And that, Legolas told himself while his eyes watched the shadows that the crackling torch cast over the form of his sleeping companion, could make all the difference. No, he corrected himself firmly, it _would _make all the difference. Aragorn would live; there was simply no way he would allow that infuriating human to die on him after all this.   
  
With this strangely encouraging thought Legolas leaned back against the rough stone at his back and tried his best to relax, a smile once again growing on his face.   
  
Maybe he wouldn't return to Lord Elrond with a broken oath, after all.

  
  
  
  
  
**TBC...**

  
  
  
  
  
_mellon nín (S.) - my friend  
Lá … aranya (Q.) - No … my king  
Lá, Itarillë (Q.) - No, Idril  
Á etelehta yondolya ar nossëlva, herinya … á hehta (Q.) - Save your son and our people, my lady … go  
dúnadan (S.) - 'Man of the West', ranger  
  
_

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Another small A/N: No, I don't know for sure if Turgon was indeed dark haired and would therefore have resembled Elrond at all. I do know that Turgon - as the son of Fingolfin and grandson of Indis - had some Vanyarin blood, but that doesn't necessary mean that he was blond, too. Besides, there is one little passage in The Silmarillion which might indicate that he was indeed dark haired, namely in Chapter 16, Of Maeglin: "Yet to none were his [Maeglin's] eyes more often drawn than to Idril the King's daughter, who sat beside him; for she was golden as the Vanyar, her mother's kindred, and she seemed to him as the sun from which all the King's hall****drew its light." That seems to indicate that Idril was golden haired****like her mother - unlike her father. g Yeah, I know, I'm grasping at straws here. If anyone else can think of a passage where Turgon's hair colour is expressly described, please let me know. I've been thinking about this for quite a long time. Yes, I am a freak. g**_  
  
  
  
_ **So, only one chapter left! It's always hard to believe with these short stories - it feels as if I haven't even started yet... Very strange. frowns As I said, I'll try to update on Friday or Saturday, if I can persuade everything to work as it's supposed to. Yeah, I know, the chances of me actually succeeding are slim to****none. g Anyway, stay tuned for the last chapter in which we'll at last find out what's bothering Glorfindel! I know, I know: About bloody time! g As always, reviews are greatly appreciated. Thanks!**

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_**Additional A/N:  
  
Aromene** - Well, having an arrow stick out of your chest is already bad enough if you ask me. There was no need to heap any more problems on our dear twins and elf lord... g But it would have been fun, you're right. LOL, yes, four trolls at once IS rather stupid, even for Legolas. Let's just pretend it's all because of that blow to the head. g   
**Lindahoyland** - Hmm, no, I don't think Aragorn's fate will be to end as the trolls' dinner. Would be rather unbefitting the future King of Gondor, don't you think? g But it would have been interesting - and mildly cruel. evil grin   
**Kitsune Kida** - There is only one more chapter left, unfortunately. grimaces It's hard to believe, really. And I know what you mean. I love and hate cliffies as well - it's a little Gollumnesque, isn't it? g I think it is, which is rather scary now that I think about it...  
**Zinnith** - LOL, you didn't really check every fifteen minutes, did you? I mean, I never update before 10 pm my time, so you really needn't have bothered... And to misplace a ranger is rather easy, I think, ESPECIALLY when that ranger is Aragorn. That guy needs a cowbell, he really does. g I'm sure that braiding a bat into your hair is unbecoming an elf lord, too. Glorfindel would most certainly have a fit. g And I noticed the statue's dread locks too. It gave me a while set of disconcerting ideas about elven hairstyles... g You really sound as if you would get along just great with Aragorn and Legolas, btw - just as accident-prone. Mabe you really do need a support group... LOL, actually Shmul doesn't mean anything. It's short for Samuel, from "The Life of Brian". Brian's father is called Shmul Cohen, and in the German version they pronounce it so hilariously that we couldn't stop laughing for days. Besides, the cat looked like a Shmul. g You can say "Soll ich lachen oder weinen"? Interesting. And highly useful, too. g Anyway, thanks for the long and funny review!  
**CSI3** - Hmm, yes, I guess you could call it obvious. Then again, their plans NEVER work, so it's not really that hard to guess, right? g Great you liked the chapter - and its title - thanks a lot for the review!  
**LOTRFaith** - You really think I have any influence whatsoever over their actions? Well, let me tell you one thing: I never wanted to harm Glorfindel this seriously. I never wanted them to split up, and I most certainly didn't intend to let them all nearly suffocate. And I didn't plan the cave, or Glorfindel's dreams, or... takes a deep breath You see what I mean? Things just ... happen. I can't control them. g I'm sure you know how it is.  
**Lynn-G** - Ha, I have already forgotten the plot bunny. No, I have no idea what it was. I haven't written it down somewhere. No, definitely not. g It's very nice to hear that you appreciate my rather ... strange sense of humour. I am always trying to keep these kinds of comments out of the serious scenes, but until now I've never succeeded. They just appear. grimaces They mock me, I swear they do. g Your late-night review is much appreciated, thanks a lot!  
**TrinityTheSheDevil** - Oh, my hair hates me too. That's why I cut it, but that somehow has made everything even worse... shrugs It's just as insolent as Elrond's, really. g LOL, no, you don't like Glorfindel pain at all. I know you don't, you're a nice person after all, aren't you? And innocent. g Definitely innocent. And I guess Námo would have a fit if Glorfindel showed up yet again! I still believe that Glorfindel got reincarnated because he had annoyed everybody else so much, so... g LOL, and I was thinking just the same when I saw Spiderman for the first time. I'm weird, I know. g  
**Marbienl** - Believe it or not, at the moment I have barely the time to edit the chapters. I never knew that the Teutonic Knights could be so much work... I hope that changes in a few days though, when I've finished my story. grimaces I REALLY hope so... LOL, Aragorn on a platter with an apple in his mouth - that's most certainly an interesting idea... g Hmm, Celylith and a pet bat - that's a rather funny idea. I could put something like that in at some point ... maybe when ... yes, that might work... Okay, I'll think about it. Thanks a lot for yet another plot bunny! Or rather, a plot bat! mock glare About the twins: All it says in the main works is that the twins "dwelt for a long time yet in the House of Elrond" or something like that. Some say there's something in the Unfinished Tales (I think), but I haven't come across it yet. If I do, I'll let you know. I like to think that they followed Elrond in the end. LOL, yes, Glorfindel is in the perfect "nightmare position". He's not overly pleased about that, really... g Glad to see that someone caught my little green leaf wordplay. I was grinning quite openly when I wrote that... g I don't think that the different kinds of trolls look all that differently, so I guess picturing a cave troll isn't all that wrong either. LOL, I knew you would find a way to make Aragorn's search for Gollum horrible and pain-filled! But no, I don't think I'll write something like that in the future. I really, REALLY don't like Gollum. Yeah, you're only one small country away. You know what? I'm even going to BE in your country in September. Near Groningen, I think, for a week. Perhaps I should wear a bag over my head in case I meet you on the street one day... g Would be rather obvious, though. g As always, thanks for the long review!  
**Lirenel** - Well, you won't find out what's bothering Glorfindel until next chapter, so you'll have to have a little patience yet. I hope it's not TOO long to wait... g Thanks a lot for the review!  
**CrazyLOTRfan** - LOL, why did it have to be trolls? I think because Marbienl wanted them. They never stood a chance, poor babies... g Your guesses as to why Glorfindel avoids Elrond are very good. Truly, they are, except for the Maeglin-part. I never liked him myself - I guess he was his father's son. And considering that Eöl was as mad as a hatter... g Your offer sounds good, but I don't think this counts as a cliffy. There aren't any more cliffies coming up as far as I know. Sorry about that. sheepish grin  
**Cosmic Castaway** - I am very sorry that you're going to New York. No, I'm not, but I'm sorry that you are apparently not here on Monday, at least not when I update. Then again, since I tend to update in the evening, it should be online around midday-afternoon in the US. I even thought about posting sooner so you could read it, but I really couldn't make it since I had to spend the better part of the day in the library - again. Sorry. But I'm sure you'll survive. g And I do the same while driving, btw. Everybody but me drives like idiots, did you know that? g Have fun in New York! I'm sure you will. g   
**Gwyn** - LOL, yes, I am indeed. We live by the canon, we die by the canon! grimaces Sorry, too much B5... g There will be, however, some Legolas pain in this chapter, but not TOO much since this is Marbienl's birthday story. And she adores Aragorn pain and H/C and all that, so... shrugs Sorry, there's nothing I can do about that. But there will be some, don't worry. g  
**HarryEstel** - Yeah, I guess you're right. They're ALL having an exceedingly bad day. g And this update IS soon, isn't it? For me it is, mind you. Great you liked it though, thanks a lot for reviewing!  
**Someone Reading** - I guess you're right, Elrond should get a valet. Maybe he even has one, as the Lord of Rivendell and all that... Hmm, maybe. I have to think about that. You really have to stop saying the things you do - I am really beginning to get delusions of grandeur. It's very nice of you though. g Thanks very much for all your wonderful reviews!  
**Maranwe1** - Yup, they look creepy. Very much so, actually. g I don't like "got" very much either, but sometimes I really just don't know what else to use. Dictionaries stop being helpful right about then... About the "gotten": My favourite dictionary (which is rather old, I'll admit that) says that the Past Participle of "to get" is, and I quote, "got (Amer.: gotten)". Since it's old it might very well be that that changed between 1965 (Jeez, I didn't know it was THAT old! g) and now. I don't know. Thanks for that word-order thing, I'll try to remember that, but there's nothing I can do about the awkwardness. It's simply because my English really isn't THAT good. It happens rather often that I know what I want to say but I don't know how, especially in scenes with little or no dialogue, just as you said. I can't really change that, I'm afraid, I can only hope that it diminishes with time. Unless I spend another year or so in the UK though, chances are that my awkwardness will never disappear entirely. shrugs Sorry about that. Thanks a lot for pointing all that out, though!  
**SeventhSpanishAngel12** - Nice to see that you're amused. g And no, I don't really LIVE for cliffhangers. I like them quite a lot, but I don't live for them. Alright, I LOVE them, but that's another story. g Has your hair never looked smug? Mine does that all the time... I am indeed updating a little faster at the moment, since this story is already finished. Hmm, the "rhythm"? I'll try not to lose it, don't worry. If I can ever really figure out what it really is... g  
**Noldo** - Oh yeah, it appears I did. Thanks. I'll change that along with all the other mistakes I've made once I have the time. g Thanks a lot for pointing that out. It's nice to hear that you like the story so far, even depite the cliffy. g Oh, and I love your name. Very nice. g  
**Grumpy** - LOL, you're right of course. It's not Glorfindel's fault that he can't tell Elrond what's wrong. Then again, it's not mine either. It's my alter ego's. g I love the term rangernapped. It's very accurate of course; besides, I'm sure Aragorn would be scandalised if he heard that someone said "kidnapped". g   
**Snow-Glory** - I think he wasn't thinking at all. That's his problem after all, he isn't THINKING, stupid wood-elf that he is. You're quite evil if you thought Legolas' reaction to be funny! Then again, I guess we're all evil. No, now that I think about it, I don't. I'm SURE we're all evil. g  
**LegolasGreenleafGil-Estel** - wide-eyed How did you get your father to do that for you? It's really nice of him, especially considering how long most of my chapters are... Very nice indeed. I'm afraid I don't know any other good fanfic sites. I don't have much time at the moment, so I haven't had the opportunity to search for any lately. Sorry. g LOL, yes, poor wee Glorfindel indeed. I hope to post the last chapter Friday, but I really don't know if that's soon enough? Most likely not. I'm afraid I really don't have the time to post sooner, and, knowing the BT, I most likely won't get the chance to either. shrugs They hate me. g  
**Celebdil-Galad and Tinlaure** - Thanks a lot. I simply forgot about the email, along with about a thousand other to which I'd have to reply. grimaces Most of my friends should hate me now. g Hmm, let me see, why does Glorfindel always have to get hurt ... I think it's because he's adorable and slightly idiotic. Yes, I think that's it. evil grin Nope, I really don't know who Michelle Branch is. What kind of music does she make? If it's pop or something like that it's logical that I wouldn't know her. I don't really like that kind of music. shrugs But the lyrics did fit - kind of, at least. g  
**Nikara** - I like trolls too. They don't get enough attention, poor things. They may be ugly and malicious, but they still have a heart, don't they? watches as trolls very nearly kill both our heroes Hmm, maybe not now that I think about it... g   
**Vampy2k** - Yup, they DO have bad luck. Lots of it, too, I think. g It's a miracle they're all still alive if you ask me ... a MAJOR miracle... g  
**Crippled Raven** - Yes, there's some elf pain coming up. Not THAT much, but there's at least some in here, I promise. It's quite hard to explain, actually. I hate movie-Boromir, but I like book-Boromir. I adore book-Faramir, but positively LOATHE movie-Faramir. I HATE Sean Bean, whom I only call "The Bean", but the guy that plays Faramir is not important enough to hate in my opinion. I 'nothing' him. g And the familiy thing makes everything even worse in my opinion: They're all nutters if you ask me. How their forefathers ever managed to rule Gondor is beyond me. g But I agree: Orlando Bloom is horrible. He's a terrible actor (at least in my opinion), and I spent PotC cursing him and his character. I wanted more Johnny Depp, who both looks wonderful and is a great actor. nods Yes, he is. I guess orcs don't have anything better to do, though. It's their job to be uncaring and evil, after all. g  
**Tychen** - shrugs I have no idea where it went. I checked right after I'd posted, and it was there. Maybe is once again trying to drive me mad, which wouldn't surprise me in the slightest. g LOL, I expect Legolas didn't REALLY expect everything to go to plan, at least not really deep down. What can I say, he's a very positive elf. g The "blood stained rags" are "wonderfully wicked"? Well, thank you! I laughed about that for about a minute, please don't ask me why... I guess Isál and Elvynd won't be so happy to be in my stories, but they'll change their minds. Eventually, I guess... g   
**Elvendancer** - Yes, I'm very cautious. I never leave the house without two bodyguards and a balrog. That should be enough for a while, don't you think? I just hope Glorfindel doesn't slay Stan too - I really like him by now... g  
**Aratfeniel** - Yes, one would expect Elrond to have learnt by now. I really don't know why they call him "The Wise" anyway... evil gri It's not really fair, I know. It's not really his fault. You might be right of course, I guess that most elves don't argue with their hair. Then again, Elrond is only ... counts on her fingers 9/16 Elf (the rest of him being 6/16 Man and 1/16 Maia), I guess it's at least possible. g Sorry for the cliffy though. This ending's better, at least I think so.  
**Radbooks** - LOL, yes, being a nurse wouldn't be all that bad, now would it? I know quite a few people who would actually volunteer for that job... g Even though you would have to work round the clock... You don't have to thank me for writing this - I can't help myself. I've tried not writing something for a few weeks, and it was horrible. But I thank YOU for updating! Thanks! g  
**Enigma Jade** - I heard it! Don't even try to hide your evil, sadistic laughter! Not that I had expected anything else from you, mind you... evil grin I hope you'll enjoy this chapter. You should, actually. g Thanks for the review!  
**Templa Otmena** - You're right of course. Sometimes, about once every two yéni or something, Legolas' plans actually work. g Now not being one of these times, of course. evil grin As I said, I couldn't write an entirely serious scene to save my life. Little things like that just pop up out of thin air, I don't know how they do it either. g And you actually enjoyed Medieval History? Really? I loathe it with all my heart, and they tricked me into taking this class. I swear they did. I never chose to do anything involving the Teutonic Knights, nu-uh. I didn't. shakes head vigorously If I ever meet one of them, he's dead. g The Renaissance is MUCH better, I agree. Great you still like it, and thanks a lot for your very funny and long reviews!  
**Smile Neumann** - You don't have to be ashamed, really. I have been wishing for that to happen, too - and I am writing this story, so I guess that means something. g And how do you know that I wouldn't kill Glorfindel? Let's just say that I had a little chat with PJ (who really seemed to want to get rid of him) and he made me an offer I couldn't refuse... grin evilly  
**Chip** - Oh, poor you! You really had surgery? I never went through that myself (thank God!), but I'm sure it's rather unpleasant. I hope you're more sensible than Aragorn and Legolas and actually try to get some rest! g Don't worry, there'll be plenty of Glorfindel when I'm finished with him. He might be a little worse for wear, but that's all. g I promise! crosses fingers behind back and hopes no one notices  
**Mornflower** - You sanity is indeed rather unnoticable. You hide it rather well, congratulations! g You go and have fun with Legolas, just remember to give him back in one piece. I still need him to rescue Aragorn, after all. g  
**Kathleen LaCorneille** - LOL, yes, Legolas' doesn't have a shining star, he has a black hole! I love that... g And yes, everything will be just fine of course. It all depends on how you define "fine" though... evil grin Don't worry about Aragorn, he will indeed wake up this chapter. I know how boring it is when they just sleep all the time... g Well, if it would really be a crime, then I'm poting this one now. I really wouldn't want to go for jail for not posting on time... g   
**Lina** - LINA! You're back! huggles I really, really missed you! I was beginning to get seriously worried, honestly! How exactly did Zam manage to make you disappear? Is she alright? I hope so! So I guess the soft-ball season is over? It was soft ball, wasn't it? I am really getting old... g I don't have the time for a longer reply, sorry - I still have to write a conclusion for my paper - but I wanted to let you know how happy I was about your reviews! It's great to have you back (and Éomer, if course)! huggles again  
  
**Alright, that's that. Now I have to run off to finish my paper which is almost finished. Yay Nili! Once again a huge thank-you to all my reviewers! Your reviews are very much appreciated!**


	5. The Gates of Summer

**Disclaimer: **For full disclaimer, please see chapter 1.  
  
  
**A/N:  
  
Alright, I'll admit that I am a little late. The reason for that is either that I've been incredibly busy since arriving and have only just finished unpacking (which is rather sad, considering that I've only brought a single sports bag), or it's because I still haven't got over the shock of finding out that there is Bovril Powder. (Btw, I was only kidding when I said I liked Bovril. I hate that stuff. shudders) I know, I know, it's hard to believe, but true. I don't really know why I am even surprised. sad headshake   
  
The most likely reason, however, is that my laptop doesn't like AOL 9.0 which I had to install to be able to go online, something I understand only too well. It took me nearly two days to sort the problem out, and the fact that the weather has been warm and sunny didn't really help either, to be honest. And yesterday, when I wanted to post, informed me that the document manager was offline "for repairs". It's a conspiracy, I swear it is. g  
  
Be that as it may, now I have the time to post this last chapter. I'm sorry you had to wait for it; it truly wasn't my intention. shakes head sheepishly Blame AOL and , not me. g  
  
It is, however, very nice to hear that you liked the Erestor-Elrond scene. That poor advisor isn't in enough stories if you ask me, and I am thinking about putting him into "A Sea of Troubles" together with a few other elves from this story, just to be fair. Glorfindel was in the last one, after all... watches Erestor run off in a mindless panic What's HIS problem? g   
  
  
Alright, that's enough of my entirely useless comments, I'm sure that you are more interested in the last chapter. readers nod quickly Okay, I get it. Here is chapter 5, in which Aragorn and Legolas get back to Rivendell in a shape that, with a bit of imagination, could be called "alive", we meet Erestor's new arch enemy and Glorfindel and Elrond finally have that talk they should have had in chapter 1. And that's it, I think. g  
  
Enjoy and review, please!**

* * *

  
  
Chapter 5  
  
  
The sun was slowly rising over the valley of Rivendell, casting a soft, golden-red light over the deep gorge and the lands surrounding it. It was not exactly what one would have called a glorious day, but there were few clouds visible on the horizon and only a very soft breeze ruffled the canopies of the trees.   
  
The two figures that were slowly making their way down a steep, winding path did, however, not care overly much for such things. It was questionable if either of them would have noticed if it had started to rain or hail, a blizzard might have been completely ignored and even a horde of three-headed ravenous flesh-eating squirrels could have appeared and performed a dance without them taking any notice of it.   
  
One of the two, an elf with long blond hair, no shirt and a rather dark expression on his face stopped for a moment to orient himself, his eyes wandering over the path that was sloping downwards and disappearing around a tall tree to their right. After making sure that he was where he obviously expected himself to be he returned his attention to his companion, who looked as if the only thing keeping him upright and on his feet was the elf's arm that was slung around his middle.   
  
"It's not much farther now," he told the dark haired, very, very pale man he was holding up. "Besides, we should meet a patrol or your brothers any time now."   
  
The man didn't raise his head even an inch, but his eyelids fluttered open after some failed tries and he blinked tiredly.   
"That's … what you said … two hours ago, Legolas."   
  
"That is not true," the elf shook his head and began to move once more. "It was merely one hour ago, my friend."   
  
Aragorn shook his head minutely, wincing openly when the movement inexplicably renewed the pain that was raging in his side.   
"No … said it twice."   
  
"I most certainly did not," the elf protested with mock indignation. "It is unbecoming a prince to repeat himself needlessly." He smiled slightly, something that did not diminish the worry in his eyes. "I may, however, have said something that sounded extremely similar."   
  
The man didn't answer but smiled slightly, and Legolas was once again torn between the urge to sigh with relief and to start worrying even more. They had left the cave about three hours ago – or rather he had left the cave, since Aragorn hadn't truly been conscious at that time after having been ripped out of his slumber.   
  
The first hour or so the man had been drifting somewhere between unconsciousness and waking, something about which the elf had been very glad. Even now, after two more hours of walking down this path, the man wasn't fully conscious, and Legolas didn't know if he should view this as something that would allow his friend to escape the pain and weakness he undoubtedly felt, even if only temporarily, or if he should get worried that Aragorn wasn't fully aware of his surroundings.   
  
Legolas finally shrugged inwardly and gripped the man a little bit more tightly, deciding that there was nothing he could do anyway. He needed to get Aragorn back to Rivendell, now, and stopping again to let him rest a little bit more was out of the question, no matter how gladly he would have done it.   
  
"Where is the next guard post, Aragorn?" he asked, anxious to at least try and keep the man awake and aware of his surroundings. "We passed the small beech wood next to the road half an hour ago. There should be one somewhere around here, I think."   
  
Aragorn swallowed thickly as he vainly trying to get his surroundings into focus. For the past two hours he had been seeing everything double – which was in fact an improvement, at least compared to earlier this night. When he had awoken after Legolas had got him out of the troll-cave, he hadn't been able to see anything except large blobs without defined outlines.   
  
For a moment he pondered Legolas' question, but after a few heartbeats he couldn't remember what it had been in the first place. His entire left side hurt as if someone had taken a handful of red-hot coals and had planted them inside of him, and the rest of him felt just like bodies usually did when they had been mistreated by a horde of four trolls.   
  
"How did you find me?" he whispered softly, already having forgotten that Legolas had in fact asked him something.   
  
Legolas frowned and wondered if he should repeat his earlier question, but quickly decided against it. It didn't truly matter anyway where the next guard post was. He would simply continue down this path; if there was a patrol or a guard post nearby, they would most certainly rather be spotted by them than the other way round.   
"You mean after you were found by the trolls?"   
  
Aragorn nodded, and the elf smiled weakly.   
"That was not too hard to accomplish, my friend. You do not need the eyes of an elf to follow the trail of four trolls that are mindlessly stomping through the forest." He fell silent for a moment, carefully manoeuvring the two of them around the tree at the bottom of the path, and added, "How did they find you in the first place?"   
  
Aragorn laughed wryly, or at least started to laugh since sharp pain shot through him almost instantaneously. If not for Legolas' supporting hands he would have doubled over, but while attempting to keep Aragorn on his feet, the elf's forearm knocked into his wounded left side. The collision was so brief that it would usually not have affected him at all, but now the short contact was enough to literally pull the ground out from under his feet.   
  
The sky suddenly turned blinding white and then dark as night, and the next thing Aragorn knew was that he was lying on the ground, the sky spinning in wild circles above his head. There was someone talking to him, someone he should know, but the pain in his side was simply too strong to let him think about anything else. After an eternity, the pain had abated somewhat, at least to the degree where he could breathe more or less regularly without nearly passing out from the pain.   
  
"…alright? Elbereth, answer me, reckless human? Estel! Can you hear me? Are you alright?"   
  
"Do … I l-look … alright?" the man finally managed to gasp.   
  
"Now that you ask, no, you do not," Legolas replied evenly, so relieved that he would have dropped to his knees if he hadn't been kneeling already. "I am sorry, Aragorn. I should have been more careful."   
  
"Not … not your fault," Aragorn shook his head, still trying to get his breathing under control.   
  
"No, of course not," Legolas answered sarcastically. "An invisible orc appeared, pushed me to the side, thrust its elbow into your wounded side and disappeared again before I could stop it." He nodded seriously. "You are right, these things happen all the time."   
  
"E-Especially around here," Aragorn nodded faintly and squinted up at the elf's face that was hovering over his, seeming to be a foot and then again a mile away. "Now help me up."   
  
Legolas apparently wanted to protest for a moment or two, but in the end he simply took the man's hands and pulled him to his feet. Aragorn turned even whiter as his position changed so abruptly, and he bit down on his lower lip so sharply that he tasted blood. Legolas either tactfully ignored the half-stifled whimper that escaped him nonetheless or hadn't noticed it while he was once again checking the bandages for fresh blood, and a few moments later the elf straightened up again, a tentative smile on his lips.   
  
"Well, at least the bleeding hasn't started again," he told the man with more confidence in his voice than he rightly felt. "You might escape that writing exercise after all."   
  
"Don't mention … that in front of … Erestor," the man shook his head firmly. "It might serve … to give him … i-ideas."   
  
"Hmm," the elf shook his head as well, carefully starting to move again. "You might be right. Returning to Rivendell and having to write something like 'I am not supposed to go near orcs, trolls or wargs' in various fonts and languages isn't exactly what I would call entertaining."   
  
Aragorn nodded minutely, but it was clear that he wasn't really listening.   
"They … stumbled over me," he finally said slowly.   
  
Legolas blinked and quickly chanced a look at his friend's face before he returned his attention to the path beneath their feet. 'Idiot,' a voice inside his aching head whispered accusatorially. 'You should have checked him for head injuries.'   
  
"Who did, _mellon nín_?" he finally asked carefully.   
  
"The trolls," the man retorted evenly.   
  
"Oh," Legolas nodded relieved, remembering his earlier question. "I see."   
  
"They came not long after … you had left," Aragorn recalled softly, trying to concentrate on speaking rather than on the pain in his body. "I tried to hide, but…" He trailed off and shook his head once again. "They came too close. I wasn't fast enough to run away, and … couldn't climb a tree."   
  
"It wouldn't have changed anything if you had tried to climb a tree," Legolas shook his head as well, guilt eating at his heart. "They would simply have shaken you out of it and you would have broken every bone in your body in the fall."   
  
"Good … point."   
  
Legolas barely heard the man's soft words, his thoughts once again returning to the moment when he had returned to find Aragorn gone. There had been few times in his life when he had felt so helpless and angry at himself, and a part of these feeling were still persistently clinging to his heart, refusing to let go of him completely.   
  
"I am sorry, Aragorn," he finally said, his eyes fixed firmly on the stony, dusty path in front of him. "I shouldn't have left you there alone. Your brothers told us that there were trolls about, but I didn't even think of it once, so concentrated was I on my grand idea to built a flet. I don't know what I was thinking. Forgive me."   
  
"Don't … belittle your ideas, Legolas," Aragorn protested next to him, sudden worry for his friend pushing the pain and exhaustion in his body to the side. "It … it was a good one."   
  
"Oh yes," Legolas nodded sarcastically. "It was an idea that led to your being taken captive by a horde of trolls that very nearly ate you! It was perfect, you are right."   
  
"You could not have known about them," Aragorn shook his head once more. "It was an accident. It was not your fault … none of it. There is nothing to forgive. Besides, it's … it's not as if you got away unhurt. Don't think … I have missed the way you … c-cradle that arm of yours when you think I am … not looking."   
  
Legolas gave him a surprised look; he really hadn't thought that Aragorn was aware enough of his surroundings to notice that he was hurt.   
"It is nothing, I swear. And I wish it was that easy."   
  
"It … can be," Aragorn smiled and did his best to ignore the way something scalding hot seemed to burrow ever deeper into his chest. "If you accept that ... there are things like f-fate and misfortune and that you can't blame yourself … for things that are beyond your control."   
  
"Hear, hear," the elf said good-naturedly, but some of the guilt in his heart was fading away. "You should listen to your own advice from time to time, Estel."   
  
"I know," the man agreed readily. "_Ada_is saying just the same – all the time. But … mostly, it is _his _advice … I should be following, of course."   
  
Legolas grinned slightly, but worry once again stabbed through his heart when he heard how much weaker his friend's voice had become after all this talking. He gave their surroundings a quick look and cursed inwardly when he still didn't see any sign that anyone had seen them. Where was a Noldo when you needed one?   
  
"I think I know what you are talking about, my friend." The fair haired elf gave his increasingly white-faced companion a quick look. "And now stop talking. It's still quite a long way to Rivendell, and you will need your strength."   
  
"Since when are you … a master healer, hmm?" Aragorn asked, but he, too, felt how much the small conversation had exhausted him.   
  
Even though the sun was just rising it seemed to him as if she was shining down on him hotter than ever in his whole life, and the one or two drops of blood he still had inside of him (he was firmly convinced that it couldn't be more than three) felt as if they were turning to molten lava under the sun's harsh glare. His earlier assumption that the pain in his side couldn't possibly increase was right now being proven wrong, and if he was perfectly honest with himself, he didn't care in the slightest if Legolas claimed to be a master healer or even Estë herself.   
  
"Since the only person around here who knows more about healing than me got himself impaled on a scimitar," Legolas answered curtly.   
  
"Ah yes," the man mumbled tiredly. "I almost … forgot about that." He fell silent for a moment, and Legolas was already congratulating himself on getting that stubborn human to shut up and save his strength when he opened his mouth again, his voice so soft now that it was hard to understand him. "My … sword? Did you…"   
  
Legolas sighed and nodded before the dark haired human could finish his sentence.   
"Yes, I found it. And no, I won't give it to you now, so you need not ask me to. You will get it back once we're back in Rivendell and your father expressly allows it."   
  
With an effort, Aragorn dragged his dropping eyelids open and gave the blond elf next to him a suspicious look.   
"Are you sure you … aren't one of the twins in disguise?"   
  
"Quite sure," Legolas smiled broadly and grabbed the man a little more tightly as he stumbled over a dead branch lying on the ground. "If I were, I would have to strangle myself for allowing you to get into so much trouble."   
  
"They wouldn't," Aragorn moved his head minutely from side to side. "I mean, they wouldn't hurt you … permanently. It wasn't … even your fault."   
  
Legolas laughed softly and shook his head.   
"Oh yes, they would. I dare not even imagine what your father would do, but let me tell you one thing: Your brothers will skin me alive if they find out about all this."   
  
"How right you are. Somebody please get me a knife," a soft voice somewhere to their right said sarcastically, and both their heads whipped around, Legolas' head moving quite a bit faster than his human companion's.   
  
For a moment, Legolas stared at the trees standing left and right of the well-used path leading down into the valley of Rivendell, truly believing that one of them had awoken and spoken to them. He wasn't sure whether or not he believed the tales and stories about talking trees, about the _Onodrim _that were still said to live in the large forests to the south, but even in his slightly confused and exhausted state he realised that there were two flaws in his reasoning: One, there was no reason for one of the fabled Ents to be here, and two, even if there were, he really didn't think that such a creature would be threatening him in such a manner.   
  
A small smile spread on his face as his tired brain finally came to the only possible conclusion, and he looked up even further, finally spying Elladan's figure, who was sitting in a tree to their right on a large branch about thirty feet above the ground. The twin was cocking his head to the side, apparently scanning the two bedraggled figured who had appeared a few moments ago, a curious mixture of reproach, relief and worry on his face. Now that Legolas was actually paying more than the most fleeting attention to their surroundings, he also saw the rest of what appeared to be Elladan's patrol.   
  
It took the elven prince a moment or two to actually realise that they were safe, that he had found help and would be able to get Aragorn back to his father alive. The realisation sunk in slowly, but finally the worry and fear that had been lying on his shoulders like an extremely heavy coat fell away. His grin grew even more, and he would almost have lost his grip on his human friend who was simply staring uncomprehendingly at his foster brother.   
  
"Well," Legolas finally said, too relieved to come up with anything cleverer or more eloquent, "Are you coming down here or are you planning to sit there all day?"

  
  
Elrond was walking down the corridors of his home into the direction of the healing wing, a bright smile on his lips that lit up his tired face. A rather large part of him felt ready to drop and sleep for a century or two, but he was too excited and simply happy to actually sit down and rest.   
  
Well, not _perfectly _happy, of course. There was no way an elf – or half-elf, for that matter – could be happy when his seneschal, his youngest son and the son of the king of one of the most powerful elven realms on Arda were lying in the healing wing and/or their rooms in various states of bloodiness.   
  
But at least they were alive, Elrond told himself firmly while he was smiling radiantly at a group of younger elves who stepped to the side to let him pass, apparently on their way to the Hall of Fire. None of the three was in a condition to go anywhere in the near future (not even Prince Legolas, who seemed to be most surprised about that), but that was some small detail that only they would consider offensive.   
  
The half-elf shook his head slightly, his gait slowing even more as he thought back to the scene that had greeted him this morning after a rather excited servant had all but taken him by the sleeve of his robes and had forcefully pulled him down the stairs and into the courtyard. It did not matter how many times he had already seen his sons injured in one way or the other, he would never get used to it.   
  
His heart had almost given out – and if he had been mortal, he was firmly convinced that it would have, too – when he had set foot into the courtyard, only see Elladan ride through the gates with his unconscious human brother in his arms, looking so worried that Elrond had immediately assumed the worst – a very wise course of action when dealing with his sons, as he'd learnt a long time ago.   
  
His mood had not really improved when he had actually seen Aragorn's injury, and to say that it had got worse when he had laid eyes on Legolas would have been the understatement of the century. The blond elf had been covered from head to toe with bruises and rather painful-looking lacerations, he had lost his shirts, there had been a large, bloody abrasion on his left temple, and he had broken two ribs and cracked a third and one of the bones in his left lower arm.   
  
Elrond stopped for a moment in front of a life-sized marble statue of a young elf-maid, not really knowing if he should laugh or feel angry. Legolas had insisted that he was fine, all the time it took them to get him up the stairs and into his room. Then, when the healers had been seeing to his wounds, he had tried to convince them to let him stay with Aragorn, and only when Elrond had finally stepped into his room for a moment and had told him that Aragorn needed rest and was not to be disturbed had he fallen silent. Which did of course not mean that the prince would heed his words, the Lord of Rivendell admitted to himself. If he was lucky, he would be in bed and resting now – something which he seriously doubted.   
  
But he had not been lying, Elrond thought darkly. Aragorn did need rest; a lot of it actually. He knew that he had to tell neither his sons nor Legolas how close they had come to losing the young man. The son of Thranduil might have done quite a good job of stopping the bleeding, but another few hours later and it would have been too late to counteract the infection that had already been spreading inside of the young ranger's wound when he had been brought here. Orc scimitars were notorious for causing festering wounds because the blades were filthy even if the orcs didn't coat them with various poisons.   
  
The dark haired elf shook his head, firmly putting these thoughts out of his mind. It didn't matter; Aragorn had not been poisoned. His wound was infected and a very bad one to begin with, yes, but Legolas had got him here in time. Barring any unforeseen complications, his human son would be just fine, and all they would have to worry about this coming month would be him trying to escape their care, something which happened far too often.   
  
Right now the man was sleeping, still under the influence of a draught Elrond had given him when they had started tending his injuries, and one of the twins was sitting in a chair at his bedside to keep an eye on him, even though Elrond had assured them that the other healers would look after their brother and that they should get some rest instead. When he had left, Elladan had been sitting in the large, stuffy armchair with his eyes fixed firmly on Aragorn's pale face, and he was sure that he had seen Elrohir slip into Legolas' room.   
  
Elrond took up his walk once more, still smiling slightly. It was good to know that his sons were watching over the two of them, and no matter how sternly he may have told the twins to get some rest, he was very glad that they had decided to keep an eye on their brother and friend – it was, in fact, the reason why he had left in the first place.   
  
Deciding that he would administer a cup of his famous – or infamous – tea to both Elladan and Elrohir if they were still refusing to take some rest at sundown, he walked down the corridor, turned right and came face to face with Erestor, who was waiting in front of the large double door that was leading to the healing chambers.   
  
Elrond came to an abrupt stop, inwardly asking himself why he seemed to collide with every other person lately, and gave his dark haired advisor a quick nod.   
"Erestor."   
  
"My lord," Erestor nodded back, a happy, relieved sparkle in his eyes that hadn't been there when Elrond had seen him last. The reason for this became quickly apparent when a wide smile spread over his usually so reserved face and he added, "He is awake!"   
  
"So I have heard," Elrond smiled softly. The message that Glorfindel was awakening had reached him when he had still been busy treating Aragorn and Legolas, and he hadn't found the time to see to his friend until now. "You have seen him already, I assume?"   
  
"Yes." Erestor looked strangely flustered for a moment. "Mistress Gaerîn, however, was so kind to point out how important it is that he gets enough rest and … assured … me that I could return to my duties."   
  
Elrond hid a smile just in time and nodded earnestly. He seriously doubted that Gaerîn, the healer whom he had entrusted with Glorfindel's care, had phrased it just like this. It didn't matter that the she-elf in question was in fact tiny, petite and even younger than the twins; if she saw the health of one of her patients endangered, she could get rather explicit. She had a knack of formulating her orders in a way that always seemed polite and respectful, but she also didn't leave the shadow of a doubt in anyone's mind that she would rip your heart out of your breast if you didn't do what she told you this instant – which was, of course, the reason why he had chosen her in the first place. If there was one healer in Imladris that could deal with a hurting, ill-tempered Glorfindel, it was Gaerîn.   
  
His inward smile widened. Erestor had been thrown out, by a child not even half his age.   
"I see," he finally said. "I have the utmost confidence in Lady Gaerîn's abilities. If she says Glorfindel is fine, then it is so."   
  
Erestor didn't answer immediately, but judging from the way his eyes narrowed at the mention of the she-elf's name it became rather clear that he didn't share his lord's view in the slightest. The dark haired advisor finally nodded politely, annoyance and chagrined acceptance swirling in his eyes.   
  
"If you say so, my lord." Erestor straightened his shoulders and set his jaw, fixing his eyes on the large wooden doors as if expecting them to open at any moment to reveal a large fire-breathing dragon together with its brood. "Do you wish me to … accompany you, my friend?"   
  
Elrond fought to keep a straight face, the worry of the past days making way to irrational merriment that threatened to brim over.   
"No, _mellon nín_," he shook his head, almost losing his composure completely when he saw how Erestor's shoulder dropped slightly in relief. "I think I will speak to him alone."   
  
"Good luck then, my lord," Erestor muttered, apparently torn between relief and annoyance with either Gaerîn or their golden haired friend. "He is already complaining."   
  
"Oh?" Elrond arched an eyebrow.   
  
"Yes," Erestor nodded, a small smile on his lips. He had never thought he would be so happy to hear Glorfindel complain about one and the same thing over and over again. "He feels awful," he began to count on his fingers. "The bed is too hard or too soft, the sheets are making his skin itch, the bandages are too tight, the view boring, the company horrid, the décor terrible … should I go on, my lord?"   
  
"No, thank you," Elrond shook his head with a large smile. "I think I see your point."   
  
Erestor returned the smile and was about to bow and turn around, but he seemed to think better of it and looked back up, locking eyes with his lord and friend.   
"Talk to him, Elrond," he said earnestly, the fact that he was calling the other elf lord by his name emphasising how serious he was. "The Valar know I've tried to make him tell me what is wrong, but he won't talk to me. He needs to speak about whatever troubles him, now more than ever. Don't let him get away with avoiding your questions."   
  
"I will do my best," Elrond nodded darkly, determination flickering to life in his grey eyes. "Thank you, my friend. For everything."  
  
Erestor merely smiled again and turned around, and a second later he had disappeared around the corner. Elrond looked after him for a moment or two before he straightened his back and turned to the door. He hesitated only a moment before he reached for the handle and opened it, stepping into the room as soundlessly as possible and closing it behind him again.   
  
Before he could even scan the room, a small, delicate figure with flaming red hair had appeared in front of him, wearing a frown that seemed to be at odds with her otherwise lovely face. The frown turned into a smile when she saw who had just entered the room, and she inclined her head and curtsied quickly.  
  
"My lord," she said softly, looking up to fasten grey eyes on Elrond's face. "How are Estel and the prince?"   
  
"They are well, considering the circumstances," Elrond returned the nod. "If we can keep them in their beds, they should make a full recovery."   
  
"I'll get the chains then, my lord," the young she-elf retorted darkly.   
  
Elrond smiled broadly.   
"Yes, that might be a wise course of action, Gaerîn." He turned serious quickly and nodded into the direction of Glorfindel's bed. "How is he?"   
  
"As well as can be expected," she answered in a low voice. "The fever is all but gone, there are no signs of infection as far as I can tell and only little fresh bleeding. With time, Lord Glorfindel should be just fine."   
  
It was strange how good it felt to have another healer confirm what he had already heard from other elves on his way here, and Elrond closed his eyes for a moment and nodded, thanking Eru Ilúvatar for sparing Glorfindel's life.   
"Thank you for watching over him," the half-elven healer finally inclined his head and opened his eyes. "I will stay with him for a while now."   
  
Gaerîn was intelligent enough to know when she was being dismissed, and with another curtsy she turned around and left the room. Elrond didn't watch her leave but immediately made his way over to his friend's bedside, the urge to make sure for himself that Glorfindel would be alright burning strongly within him. He only needed to take a couple of steps to reach the bed, and for a few moments he simply remained where he was, looking down on Glorfindel's still form.   
  
He was still pale, almost as pale as Aragorn had been when he had been brought here, Elrond thought. It was a different pallor though; it didn't look quite as deathly-white anymore, not as if he were only one step away from death's doors. The bandages covering almost his entire torso had been changed sometime during the day, the white linen now almost blending into the white sheets.   
  
Not really knowing whether or not his friend was awake, Elrond reached out and placed a hand on the blond elf's forehead, sighing softly in relief when his palm made contact with cool, dry skin. Before he could withdraw his hand, Glorfindel's eyes opened slowly and he blinked twice, apparently trying to get his surroundings into focus.   
  
"Welcome back," Elrond smiled gently and withdrew his hand, sitting down onto the chair sitting next to the other elf's bed.   
  
A tired smile spread over the other's face and he swallowed quickly, his eyes fixing on the water jug next to Elrond rather than on his face.   
"Thank you, my lord."   
  
"It is I who should thank you," Elrond shook his head while he filled a cup with water, having followed his friend's gaze. "If you hadn't sensed that first ambush, Eru alone knows what might have happened."   
  
Glorfindel merely shook his head, but before he could answer Elrond had helped him sit up and had pressed the rim of the cup against his lips. After the golden haired elf had drunken his fill, the cup was removed and Elrond helped him lie down again, wincing inwardly when he saw the pain on his friend's face, and his determination to make Glorfindel tell him what was wrong faltered.   
  
Glorfindel nodded into Elrond's general direction but still didn't meet his eyes, and the half-elf's resolve grew once more. This could not go on.   
  
"Aragorn and the prince – they are fine?" Glorfindel asked, his voice soft and full of suppressed pain.   
  
"Yes," Elrond assured the other elf quickly. "They will be just fine, both of them. The rest of the warriors are also alright, don't worry."   
  
"Erestor already told me," Glorfindel nodded, closing his eyes once more. "I am glad, then. I shouldn't have led them down that path."   
  
"You could not have known," Elrond shook his head firmly even though the other elf couldn't see it. "You might have saved all their lives; who knows what would have happened if you had run first into the one and then into the other troupe of orcs unprepared."   
  
Glorfindel shook his head slightly, apparently not really having heard the other's words.   
"I have failed you, my lord. Because of me your son and Prince Legolas were seriously injured and almost killed. I beg your forgiveness."   
  
Elrond shook his head again, confusion and a little bit of annoyance on his face.   
"It was not your fault, Glorfindel. There is no need to beg anything of me."   
  
Glorfindel merely shook his head again and turned slightly to the side, a more than obvious sign that he wished to be left alone, but Elrond had reached the end of his patience and was no longer willing to accept this kind of behaviour. There was no way he would leave now.   
  
"What is it, my friend?" he asked softly. "What is it that is troubling you? This night, when you were fighting the fever, you were dreaming about Gondolin. Is this it? Are the memories of its fall haunting you once more?"   
  
The other elf didn't answer, not that Elrond had really expected him to, and so the dark haired elf decided that the only course of action that might promise some measure of success was total bluntness. He ignored the way his heart constricted with pain at the mere thought of what he was about to say and narrowed his eyes at his fair haired friend.   
  
"Are you blaming me?" he demanded to know, his voice sharper than he intended it to be. "Are you blaming me and my house for your death? Is this why you have been avoiding me all this time?"   
  
Elrond had hoped to get a reaction out of his friend this way, but he had certainly not been prepared for the one that followed only a second later. The golden haired elf's eyes flew open and his gaze fixed on his friend's face, disbelief and horror on his face.   
  
"I?" Glorfindel stuttered finally. "Blame you? What … how …" he took a deep breath and winced, but pushed the pain to the side quickly. "Why would you say that?"   
  
"Don't insult my intelligence, Glorfindel," Elrond said emotionlessly, feeling a little bit relieved by the other's incredulous reaction. "I have seen you look at me and wince as if my very sight pains you in some way. You are avoiding my presence as if I was the carrier of a mysterious, deadly disease, and you ask me why I would say that you blame me for something?"   
  
Glorfindel seemed about to say something, but then he turned his head away and clamped his mouth shut again, something that awoke in Elrond the very powerful urge to take his friend's shoulders and shake him.   
"I could never blame you for anything, Elrond. You are wrong."   
  
"Then what is it?" Elrond all but exclaimed. "Tell me, Glorfindel! If you are not blaming me, then why are you avoiding me? Please, _mellon nín_, talk to me! I beg you!"   
  
For a moment, it seemed as if the golden haired elf wanted to remain silent, but then he began to shake his head, almost hysterical laughter dancing in his eyes.   
"You don't know how wrong you really are," he said softly, obviously working hard to regain control over himself. "When your father was only a babe, I swore to protect him with all my strength, as I had sworn to protect his mother and grandfather. I could never blame his descendants for what happened all these years ago, least of all you."   
  
Elrond didn't answer, sensing that now was not the time to interrupt his fair haired friend, who almost seemed to have forgotten that he wasn't alone in the room.   
  
"You should have seen it, Elrond," Glorfindel went on, his eyes staring dreamily into empty space. "_Ondolind_ was the most beautiful city I have ever seen; in my first life and in this one as well. Some said that it was almost as beautiful as Tirion itself, and none who had ever laid eyes on our city challenged that claim. The valley of Tumladen was green as the greenest emerald, and the city's walls were white as pearls and shone twice as brightly in the sun. The tower of the king was tall as a tree of stone growing into the heavens, and there among the countless fountains stood the two trees the King had made in memory of the Two Trees far to the West in Valinor."   
  
The elf shook his head slightly, a fond smile on his lips.   
  
"It was my entire world. We almost never left the city; only when my king set out to fight in the Nirnaeth Arnoediad. Even then, after that dark day, we knew that we couldn't stay hidden forever, that, one day sooner or later, he would find us, but we weren't willing to abandon our fair city, as Tuor bade us do. We should have listened to Ulmo's warnings that he had brought, I know that now, but then it seemed so unlikely that anyone could ever find us. The king trusted our defences and was unwilling to leave and get involved once again in the battles that raged without, and so we stayed."   
  
Elrond nodded, even though he was sure that Glorfindel wouldn't have noticed if he had turned blue in the face. He, too, knew the tale of the Fall of Gondolin, knew how Maeglin, the nephew of the king, had betrayed the secrets of Gondolin to Morgoth for fear for his life and because of his desire to possess Idril, his cousin.   
  
"And then they came," Glorfindel went on tonelessly. "Then as today we celebrated Midyear's Day with a great feast. In Gondolin we called it Andor Lairëo, or Ennyn Laer in the younger tongue; the Gates of Summer. Everyone was on the eastern walls to greet the rising sun when they came over the northern hills, an endless column of orcs, wolves, dragons and balrogs. Before even an alarm had been sounded, they were beneath the very walls; like a large mass of black insects they crawled over the walls and into the city. We never stood a chance."   
  
Glorfindel shook his head and bit down on his lower lip, his eyes dark and hard.   
"Ecthelion died. Turgon died. The people of my house died, and my friends and everyone I had known and loved. Our city fell to ruin, and if not for Idril's foresight and wisdom, not even she, her family and the few they could gather would have survived."   
  
"But they did survive," Elrond interjected gently. "You saved them. You stayed and fought the balrog, giving them enough time to make their way to the Pass and escape."   
  
"It was all in vain," Glorfindel shook his head darkly. "All for nothing in the end."   
  
Elrond frowned, truly not understanding what his friend was talking about.   
"I fear I cannot follow you, my friend."   
  
"Tell me, Elrond," Glorfindel said evenly with a strange calmness on his face, "what happened to the Gondolindrim that managed to escape the sack of the city?"   
  
The dark haired elf's frown deepened.   
"They settled at the Mouths of Sirion with those who had escaped the destruction of Doriath. My father was their lord after his parents had taken the ship to the West. Elros and I were born there, but I really…" He trailed off, sudden understanding on his face. "Oh, I see. Maedhros, Maglor and the twins."   
  
"Yes," Glorfindel nodded, cold fury on his face even after so many years. "Maedhros, Maglor and the twins. They slaughtered what was left of my people, and for what? For an accursed jewel that never brought anyone anything but grief!"   
  
"I know," Elrond nodded softly, dark memories of how the remaining sons of Fëanor had assaulted his childhood home rising inside of him. "I remember it well. Neither Círdan nor Gil-galad were quick enough to aid us, and before their ships had even arrived the battle was over." He looked up, sad grey eyes locking with sad blue ones. "They paid for their deeds, Glorfindel, you know that. Amras and Amrod died that very day, and everyone knows what happened to Maedhros and Maglor."   
  
"Fate was far too kind to them," Glorfindel shook his head, his eyes still gleaming with fury and sadness. "I do not want to speak ill of the one who has shown you and your brother kindness, but…"   
  
He trailed off and swallowed thickly.   
"I died in vain," he repeated softly. "It was all for nothing. But no, I do not blame you, son of Eärendil. I died gladly, for your grandparents, for your father and for my people. Neither they nor you are to blame for the fact that I did it vainly."   
  
Elrond shook his head slowly, his eyes still not leaving Glorfindel's face.   
"Then why do you avoid my company?"   
  
"Because," Glorfindel began slowly, "Because, more and more often these past few years, you look so much like your father that I can almost believe it all never happened." Elrond merely stared at him, and so he continued, a small smile on his lips. "I loved your father, you know – like every other elf in the city, since the day he was born. He was a beautiful child, with the wisdom of the Eldar and the strength of Men in his heart, and he had the same love for the Sea that his father possessed. You remind me of him, Elrond, sometimes more, sometimes less. There is also much of your mother and her ancestors in you, but now that the times are growing dark like they did then there are days that I can see Tuor's stubbornness, Idril's wisdom or my king's strength in you, and I remember."   
  
Elrond was silent for a moment, not really knowing what to say, but then he leaned forward in his chair, his eyes boring into Glorfindel's in an attempt to make that stubborn elf see reason.   
"Glorfindel," he began carefully, "You cannot possibly believe that your death was in vain. You…"   
  
"Don't," the other elf shook his head sharply. "Don't try to reassure or comfort me, Elrond. I made a choice, a conscious choice to stay behind and die. I did not expect to win against the balrog; if even Ecthelion had died, then how could I have possibly hoped to survive? I made that choice and died. I smelled my own burning flesh and hair and saw my skin catch fire before my very eyes, and for what? It was all for nothing! All this was for nothing, all the mighty, desperate deeds Ecthelion and so many others did availed nothing! I died gladly, thinking that I would ensure my people's freedom and survival, only to be returned to life and hear that they had been slaughtered! I never asked to come back, Elrond. I had made that choice and was happy; even in the moment the demon pulled me down with it into the abyss in shadow and flame I was happy in the knowledge that they would live!"   
  
"And you did not wish to live once you came back," Elrond interjected softly.   
  
"Not when they did not, no!" Glorfindel shook his head again, anger and despair in his eyes. "I _wanted _to die, Elrond. When we were ambushed by the orcs near the Eagle's Cleft it was like a gift from the heavens – I could go down in a blaze of glory and take as many of them with me as possible! I had watched while my entire world was destroyed and my best friend and my king slaughtered! Of course I did not wish to live!"   
  
"And now?" Elrond asked, trying to hide his apprehension. "Do you want to live now?"   
  
The golden haired elf merely looked at him blankly, nothing on his face that could have given Elrond any clue as to what he was thinking, and Elrond took a deep breath, trying to get his emotions under control. He had been no more than a child when his father and mother had left, and his memories of them were hazy at best after all these ages. He had never thought that he could somehow remind his fair haired friend of his ancestors whom the other had known so well.   
  
"Glorfindel," he began once more, deciding to try a different approach. "Tell me one thing: Do you consider my sons' existence to be unnecessary? Or the Evenstar's? Would you rather have it that they had never been born?"   
  
Glorfindel's reaction to that question was rather interesting. His head turned around so quickly that he didn't even have time to notice the pain the fast movement brought and he stared at his friend, his eyes so large and indignant that Elrond had to suppress a smile.  
  
"I love your children as if they were my own," he growled at the very calm half-elf sitting next to him. "I thought you knew that. If anyone else suggested that I wished them ill in any way, I would make him pay dearly for it."   
  
"Yes," Elrond smiled slightly. "Yes, I know you would. But," he went on, his eyes darkening a little at the very thought, "Surely you realise that, if you had not stayed and fought the balrog that day, they would never have been born? Idril and Tuor would most likely have died, along with my father and the rest of their people. I wouldn't have been born. Elros wouldn't have been born, nor so many others who still live today."   
  
"It's not the same," Glorfindel shook his head. "That is not what I meant, it…"   
  
"Yes," Elrond interrupted him sharply with a voice that left no room for further arguments. "It is. You did not die in vain, _ mellon nín_. It doesn't matter what happened later; it doesn't matter whether Maedhros and his brothers razed the Havens to the ground or not. Without you, I would never have existed, and neither would have Elladan, Elrohir or Arwen. Elros would never have become Númenor's first king, and his house would never have been founded. Aragorn would not have been born into this world, just like none of his forefathers would have lived before him. And it's not only me and my house, Glorfindel," the dark haired elf stressed insistently. "Take Gaerîn, for example. Her great-grandparents fled from Gondolin that day, and because of you they survived. Or Isál, one of your captains. His grandmother hailed from Doriath, I believe, but his grandfather was born in your city. He wouldn't have existed either. There are so many more I could name, my friend, so many that live because you fought and died for them."   
  
Elrond shook his had slowly and continued.   
"Yes, you may be right when you say that many of those who fled from Gondolin that day more than six thousand years ago died nonetheless. But even though many died when Fëanor's sons attacked my home, there were some that survived, Glorfindel, and even more of their children and children's children. You did not die in vain. You achieved what you set out to do, and I and my house and so many others will forever be in your debt because of it."   
  
"But even now, after six thousand years, I wake up at night because I see it all over again," Glorfindel said softly, all anger seeming to have drained out of him. "I see how the walls are overrun, how Ecthelion is burnt alive and how the Tower of the King falls. I hear the screams of the dying and my own when I fall into the abyss to my death with the balrog. I can never forget it, Elrond, never, no matter how hard I try."   
  
"Of course not," the younger elf said softly with a small smile. "Of course you cannot forget it, just like I could never forget the day the sons of Fëanor sacked the Havens of Sirion. Such memories are everlasting, just like your love and allegiance to Turgon and your departed friends will never fade or die. But the thing that is important is that you do not live there, my friend. You have to let go."   
  
Glorfindel frowned, and so Elrond continued, choosing his blunt words with care.   
"Gondolin is fallen, Glorfindel, and nothing you can do will bring it back. There is not even a single stone left of it since the War of Wrath. And even though it is gone, you still haven't left the pinnacle where you fought the balrog. A part of you is still there, and refuses to let go."   
  
"That part is all I have left of my home," the golden haired elf said tonelessly.   
  
"No, my friend," Elrond shook his head gently. "You have your memories of the days before Gondolin was discovered. You do not need to cling to the memories of your death, Glorfindel. You have so much more."   
  
"And yet a part of me is dead and will forever remain dead," Glorfindel shook his head as well. "A part of me died with my home and my friends, and nothing anyone can say, nothing even _you _can say, will change that."   
  
"I know," Elrond retorted softly, bowing his head to hide the tears that were suddenly welling up in his eyes. "Oh, my friend, believe me, I know."   
  
A hand was suddenly placed on his forearm, and Elrond looked up to see Glorfindel's pale, from the strain slightly trembling hand wrapped around his wrist.   
"Forgive me, my friend," the fair haired elf begged softly. "I spoke out of turn. I should not have brought that up."   
  
"It is alright," Elrond smiled as best as he could. "It has been a long time now."   
  
"The passage of time doesn't necessarily make it easier," Glorfindel shook his head. "Sometimes, it even makes it hurt all the more."   
  
"Yes, it does," Elrond agreed sadly, his eyes locking with his friend's. "But you are not alone, Glorfindel. I know how it feels to lose a part of yourself – but that's all you've lost, my friend, a _part _of you. You have a home here, a people that need your protection and friends that love you. Don't shut us out."   
  
"I have done no such thing!" the other elf protested automatically, but quickly lowered his head and smiled somewhat sheepishly. "Well, maybe I have. But only a little."   
  
"That, my friend," Elrond interjected sourly, "is a matter of definition. Be that as it may, however," he went on quickly before his friend could object, "I give you my word of honour that, if you ever do something like this again, I will personally kill you."   
  
Glorfindel raised his chin and met the other elf's gaze evenly, understanding full well that his lord and friend was indeed not talking about the orc ambush.   
"Yes, my lord, thank you. I will think about your words."   
  
"Then I am glad," Elrond smiled broadly, allowing the relief that was spreading inside of him to show on his face. "I thought you would never come to your senses."   
  
"It is unbecoming an elf lord to mock a grievously injured person."   
  
Elrond's smile grew to improbable dimensions at his friend's answer.   
"It most probably is. I will think about it while you take some rest – and don't try to talk yourself out of it, because you won't succeed. Your body needs sleep to heal."   
  
Glorfindel apparently thought about protesting, but before he could even say a single word, his eyelids seemed to develop a mind of their own and were beginning to drop. The blond elf lord attempted to open them again, and finally, after some moments of silent fighting which Elrond watched with quite a bit of amusement, they slid shut and stayed that way. Elrond smiled slightly and stood to his feet, and just when he had reached the doors, a soft, already rather sleepy voice halted him in mid-motion.   
  
"Elrond."   
  
The dark haired elf turned around, trying to hide the worry that had re-awoken in his heart.   
"Yes, my friend?"   
  
Glorfindel forced his eyes open with an obvious effort, the blue orbs still filled with sadness and suppressed pain.   
"Next year," he began haltingly. "Next year, when we celebrate the Gates of Summer once more, I would like to greet the sun on one of the eastern balconies. I … I would be honoured if you would…"   
  
"Gladly, _mellon nín_," Elrond smiled earnestly. "I would be most happy to greet her with you."   
  
"I had hoped you would," the other elf mumbled with a smile, already half-asleep now that he had expressed his wish. "The High King loved to watch her too, and so did Idril … and your father, he…"   
  
Before he could finish his sentence sleep finally caught up with him, and Glorfindel's eyes closed once again as exhaustion and long-ignored pain demanded his body's attention. Elrond remained where he was until he was sure that Glorfindel was resting as comfortably as possible, looking at his sleeping friend, and a small, sad smile spread over his face.   
  
"Yes," he told the resting elf softly. "My father loved the sunrise. And so did Elros."   
  
For a moment he just stood there, thinking back to places and people long gone, but then he shook his head and turned around, to the rest of his life and his children who were still waiting for him outside this room.

  
  
Aragorn was bored.   
  
He didn't really know how it was possible for someone to be completely exhausted and bored at the same time; the only thing he knew was that he had managed it. This had to be a kind of personal record, Aragorn thought to himself with a dark frown, staring at his room's ceiling. He hadn't got bored so quickly since that time he had broken his leg when he had been fifteen years old – at least he thought so.   
  
He wasn't really sure since it was quite hard to concentrate on anything at the moment, he decided earnestly, his eyes still not leaving the ceiling. His father's draught that had put him to sleep earlier was still affecting his senses, and even though he had to admit that it was quite nice not to feel all of the pain that still throbbed dully in his body, he was beginning to get fed up with the side effects. Not being able to concentrate properly was one of them and most certainly the most annoying, closely followed by the soft, grey haze that had laid itself over most objects in his field of vision.   
  
It made it really hard to see, Aragorn decided while his eyes left his room's ceiling and slowly travelled over the walls to the balcony doors to his left. He knew that the curtains were usually of a dark blue colour, with silver edgings at the bottom, but right now they looked more like grey than blue. The gleaming rays of the setting sun that streamed into the room through the gap between the two lengths of cloth weren't turning the silver threads a soft golden-red colour as they usually did; they were, out of reasons Aragorn couldn't possibly fathom, green.   
  
This was most displeasing indeed, the young ranger thought to himself while his eyes were still fixed on the softly swaying curtains, and it was the healer's fault. When he had woken up, Elladan had been sitting in the chair next to him, but just when his older brother had calmed down again a little and had been about to start scolding him for his reckless behaviour, the small she-elf had turned up, the one with the red hair – or at least he thought it had been red.   
  
Aragorn bit down on his lip while his muddled brain tried to remember the female healer's name. He knew it, he was _sure _ he knew it, but he simply couldn't remember! After a while he gave up, his frustration quickly fading again while his sleepiness increased. It didn't matter what her name was, the fact remained that she had thrown Elladan out. He had been too sleepy to understand why she had done it, and even though Elladan had been highly unwilling, he had left with her in the end. They had gone to fetch his father, that much he was certain of, but he wasn't sure when exactly they had left his room. Maybe two minutes ago. Or maybe two hours.   
  
He was still pondering this – and had just come to the conclusion that, no matter how long ago the two elves had left, it could not have been longer than two days ago – when a soft sound to his right caught his attention, and with the lazy slowness that sedatives always awoke inside of him he turned his head to the side. What he saw there would have alarmed him under other circumstances, but now it merely puzzled him.   
  
Aragorn frowned and narrowed his eyes, trying to clear his vision of the dancing spots of light that had begun to appear in front of his eyes. After a few moments of opening and closing his eyes and viewing the scene from every angle available to him he came to the only possible conclusion: Legolas' head was floating in midair in front of his curtains.   
  
This was most curious, the young man thought, his eyes not leaving the head of his friend that was right now turning from side to side, as if checking that there was no one else in the room. Legolas looked rather normal – or as normal as a person missing his or her body could – if one ignored the fact that his hair didn't look pale golden anymore, but rather white. There were also a few bruises and scratches on his face, and a large, purple abrasion on his temple, but Aragorn seemed to remember them, somehow.   
  
Before he could remember when exactly he had seen Legolas in this rather ruffled state, two hands appeared next to the floating head and pushed the curtains aside, and a moment later the elf's head was joined by the rest of his body that stepped into the room. He stayed completely motionless for a moment, his head cocked slightly to the side, but then he closed the distance between the door and Aragorn's bed and sat down on the armchair recently vacated by Elladan, his movements rather stiff and slow.   
  
A small smile spread on the elf's face as he saw the man's open eyes, and he leaned forward a little with a relieved sparkle in his eyes.   
"You are awake."   
  
"And you … have a body," Aragorn retorted softly, feeling quite relieved himself.   
  
Legolas only blinked and frowned slightly, but came apparently to the conclusion that it was the far wiser course of action not to ask.   
"I seriously hope so." His eyes narrowed when he saw the slightly glazed look in the man's eyes and gave an inward sigh of relief. Lord Elrond's potion hadn't worn off yet – so Aragorn hadn't sustained a head injury after all. "How do you feel, Estel?"   
  
"Oh, I'm fine," Aragorn tried to move a hand in what was supposed to be a casual gesture but which nearly would have hit Legolas in the face. "How are you?"   
  
"Well enough," Legolas answered quickly as he grabbed the man's hand and carefully pushed it back down onto the blankets. "It's nothing a few days' rest won't cure, your father said so himself."   
  
Well, the young elf thought to himself, that might not be the whole truth. Lord Elrond had actually used terms like "extremely lucky" and "at least a week of strict rest", which left quite a bit to be desired in terms of precision. He was resting right now, wasn't he?   
  
"Good," Aragorn nodded, still staring with fascination at Legolas' white hair. It looked rather strange, now that he thought about it. With an effort he wrenched his sluggish thoughts away from Legolas' unusual appearance and looked at him earnestly. "Glorfindel is … alright?"   
  
"Yes," Legolas nodded as well. "Elrohir assured me that he will make a full recovery. The rest of the warriors managed to get back here without any serious injuries."   
  
Aragorn smiled, quite relieved to hear Legolas confirm what Elladan had already told him.   
"Where is he? Elrohir, I mean?"   
  
"I don't really know," Legolas shrugged lightly, but froze immediately as a stab of pain went through his chest. "A small she-elf appeared and dragged him out. For a moment I was certain that she would actually take him by the ear and pull him out of the room."   
  
Aragorn nodded seriously, once again trying to remember the healer's name. It was something beginning with "S", he was very sure about that.   
"They have gone to fetch my father."   
  
Legolas' eyes widened considerably, and his gaze immediately began to survey the room, as if expecting Lord Elrond to appear out of nowhere all of the sudden.   
"And you tell me that _now_?" he asked incredulously, already half on his feet. "He will kill me if he finds me here! And after that he will give me to your brothers!"   
  
"Don't worry," Aragorn blinked and shook his head, battling the sleepiness that once again threatened to overcome his senses. "You are his patient. He would never harm one of his patients." He waited until Legolas had sat back down again before he added, "Usually."   
  
"'Usually'?" Legolas repeated suspiciously. "Just what is that supposed to mean, _dúnadan_?"   
  
"Oh … he's had two bad days," Aragorn grinned sleepily. "Or so Elladan has told me." The man ignored the dark expression on his friend's face and concentrated on what he had wanted to tell the elf the entire time, pushing the exhaustion as far back as he could. "I … I wanted to thank you, _mellon nín_," he continued softly. "For saving me from the trolls and … for everything else. Thank you."   
  
"As I said earlier, Estel," Legolas smiled softly. "Always. You are my friend, and when you need help, I will always be there."   
  
"Unless," Aragorn retorted with a smile of his own, "my father could discover you out of bed against his orders."   
  
"Well, yes," the fair haired elf conceded. "I may be your friend, but I am not suicidal."   
  
"Says the elf that took on four trolls alone," Aragorn muttered under his breath. "Hear, hear."   
  
"And since I am not suicidal," Legolas went on, ignoring the man's mumbled words, "I advise you to take some rest. If your father arrives here and finds you sleeping, he might actually not kill me – at least not right away."   
  
"Good reasoning," Aragorn nodded, finding that it was becoming harder and harder to keep his eyes open.   
  
"Thank you," the elf nodded as well, ignoring the sarcastic undertone that had tinged the man's words. "Now sleep."   
  
"You really … _are _a stubborn elf," the young ranger mumbled while his eyelids slid shut.   
  
"And you, my friend, are an insufferably reckless human," Legolas retorted with a smile. "Go to sleep."   
  
Aragorn frowned slightly, apparently trying to hold onto what he had wished to tell the elf, but before he could bring the words into anything resembling a sensible order, they had faded completely from his mind.  
  
Exhaustion and suppressed pain rose to the surface like an unstoppable wave, and before he truly knew what was happening, all conscious thought had fled from his mind as the comforting darkness of sleep enveloped him. Within half a minute he was asleep, and Legolas leaned back in his armchair, wincing slightly when his bruised back made contact with the back of the chair.  
  
The elf simply watched the sleeping human for a few minutes, a wave of gratitude and relief once again welling up inside of him. For a long time he had truly believed that Aragorn would die before he could get him anywhere near Rivendell, a thought that had scared him far more than he was willing to admit to himself. Even though he had known Lord Elrond's foster son for only a little more than a year, he had become quite fond of him, and the thought of losing his human friend so early had frightened him deeply.   
  
Legolas shook his head inwardly, dismissing these depressing thoughts. Neither of them had died and they had it made back to Rivendell in (more or less, at least) one piece, that was all that mattered. Now all they had to do was survive being mothered by the twins and every healer that could get his or her hands on them – a far more daunting task than dragging a half-dead ranger out of a troll-cave and through orc-infested territory. He was rather sure that that red-haired she-elf wouldn't allow them to get out of bed to stretch their legs or take a short walk – no, he was _very _sure about that. He didn't really know her, but he was reasonably certain that she and Hithrawyn, his father's rather forceful master healer back in Mirkwood, would get along just fine.   
  
It was also entirely possible, Legolas thought, that Lord Elrond actually fulfilled his threat and chained them to their beds to make sure they got enough rest. In which case, he added inwardly, they would have to bribe the twins to help them pick the locks. He didn't really know with which threat or promise they would be able to convince them, but they would think of something.   
  
There was one thing he was very sure about, however, and that was that the next few weeks would be highly amusing – most likely more for them than for the healers and Lord Elrond, he was fair enough to admit that. It would be easy enough to convince the twins to help them escape their father's clutches once their wounds were healed a little more; besides, he had yet to see the twins resist one of Aragorn's really pitiful looks.   
  
With a last fond look at his sleeping friend Legolas carefully sat back in his armchair, put his bandaged left arm on top of his right one and waited for Lord Elrond and the twins to arrive.

  
  
  
  
  
** THE END**

  
  
  
  
  
  
_mellon nín (S.) - my friend  
ada (S.) - father (daddy)  
Onodrim_ _(S.) _- _Ents  
Ondolindë (Q.) - 'The Rock of the Music of Water', the original Quenya name of the elven city of Gondolin  
dúnadan (S.) - 'Man of the West', ranger_

  
  
  
  
  
**Well, and that was it, I'm afraid! The reckless human and the stubborn elf have arrived safely, are - more or less - in one piece, and Glorfindel has talked about what was bothering him. That's all very nice, isn't it? sighs contently Yes, it actually is.   
I hope you've all enjoyed this little story, short as it was - especially Marbienl, of course; it is her birthday present, after all. I am beginning to suspect that I will have to write a "How Aragorn and Legolas met"-story at some point, but that's another matter. g   
  
About "A Sea of Troubles", the sequel to my last story "To Walk in Night": I am beginning to write it right about now, but I really don't have that much time at the moment. A very, very tentative guess is that I will post the first chapter sometime at the end of this month, probably around the 25th or something like that. Please keep in mind that that is a TENTATIVE guess. It all depends on how good the weather's going to be (this far, it has been quite nice actually!) and how motivated I'll be. So don't send me threatening mails when it's not there on the 25th. g Encouraging mails, however, are always appreciated! g Okay, that's it for now; I hope to see all of you then!  
  
  
  
Nili **

* * *

**Additional A/N:  
  
Deana** - Uhm, yes, I guess you could say that. Legolas didn't really have that great a time. g Thanks a lot for all your reviews!  
**Mornflower** - LOL, so Legolas is your date? And so is Estel? Well, that will be one hell of a party, I guess! g And don't bother to leave, you are scaring me already. No, that's not really true. It takes a lot more to actually scare me. Spiders, for example, which is rather pathetic, I know. g   
**Lindahoyland** - Oh, don't be sad. There will be another story here soon - if everything goes according to plan, which it admittedly never does. shrugs It'll be here, sooner or later. It's very nice to hear that you like my stories (I just can't keep the humour out of the chapters. Believe me, I've tried. g), and right now I am definitely enjoying my trip, even though one of my friends nearly drowned me in the swimming pool. It was quite a near thing. g  
**Ana** - I hope you got my mail. sometimes does that, you usually have to wait for a while until the chapters become visible. Then again, that was before they changed everything a few weeks ago, so maybe they don't become visible at all anymore. shrugs I will never understand them, I fear. g I am sorry for making you laugh aloud, though. I hope that doesn't cause too much inconvenience? g The characters just insist on saying these things. It's not my fault, really. g  
**Kathleen LaCorneille** - g So you didn't like those words either? I'm very sorry to hear that... It seems that you and Legolas have something in common then! gasps for air while she is being squashed by Kathleen Ah, thank you, it's very nice to see that you're so happy to have your ranger back. But I am getting the very distinct feeling that he's not too happy about your conversation - I wonder why... g You're quite right though, Elrond and Glorfindel will be fine, eventually. They just need to get over their stubborn pride and actually start talking for once. shakes head Males. I am sorry to say that there won't be any more scenes with the twins, but they'll be in my next story, so don't worry. Thanks a lot for all your nice, long reviews! huggles  
**Gwyn** - Uhm, yeah, I kinda like canon. I do in fact loathe stories that stray too far from what really happened. I know that it's all not real, but if you're using Tolkien's universe, I think it's only fair to keep to his version of "history". Yes, I know, I'm a freak. Slash isn't that bad though, because many writers only change the nature of people's relationships, not history itself. I can live with that. g The thing about an Erestor angst fic is that we know virtually nothing about his character; most of the things that are more or less accepted about him (e.g. being a quite, reserved scholar which is not necessarily the way I'd describe him during the Council of Elrond) are made-up as far as I know. That's okay though, since I do that too, but there is really very little known about him. frowns I will have to think about it. I'm glad to hear that I made you squeal, no matter because of what. g There's a little bit of Erestor in here though, so read on!  
**Firnsarnien** - LOL, it really appears that you're a busy bee! I was never a great fan of backpacking or anything of the like, so I hope you had a lot of fun! I haven't seen Terminatot 3 (Number 1 and 2 were enough for me, thanks! g), but I can imagine what kind of magnet you're talking about. evil grin And I would never kill Glorfindel! I'm not writing AUs, so you need not worry. All canon characters are safe (more or less, that is), it's only the original ones that have to be careful... I haven't really though about whom to kill in the next story, to be honest, but if you don't want me to kill Elvynd, that's fine. I'll kill Isál, then. g   
**LOTRFaith** - You can borrow this original CendanDoll™! It even threatens you in an emotionless voice if you press the button on his back! Great, huh? g And you are right, of course, Glorfindel indeed needs to talk about whatever it is that's bothering him. Don't worry though, he will. I made him do it. g Wood-elves are indeed quite insane, no matter how much Legolas refuses to admit it. We know it's true. g  
**TrinityTheSheDevil** - grabs Glorfindel tiredly DON'T try to sneak off with my characters. I still need him, at least for this chapter. Restrain yourself a little, will you? g LOL, that very nice man you're describing sounds indeed rather handsome! Go get 'im, girl! Or at least stalk him till he yells at you to go away. g And you should know by now that I never permanently maim our dear heroes. I would never do something to seriously damage their rather nice bodies! g   
**HarryEstel** - g Great to hear it was soon enough. I am sorry for posting this one so late, but I really couldn't find the time somehow. Sometimes life can be very busy indeed. I'm very glad you liked it so far, and I hope you'll enjoy this chapter as well!  
**Jera** - Jera! You're back! huggles I really, honestly, seriously missed you. I wasn't really worried or anything since I know how hard it is for you to go online, but it's very nice indeed to see that you're reading my newest insane little story. It's very, very kind of you to say all these very nice things, and I'm very glad you've been enjoying the last four chapters. I hope you'll find the time to read the last chapter too some day, thanks very much for your review! huggles again  
**AngelMouse5** - I can in fact email you this story, since I actually managed to remember to copy it onto my laptop. I don't have the other ones though (even though AEFAE might be hidden somewhere. I'll go have a look later, I promise), they're all back at home. Since I also didn't manage to import my inbox, out of reasons I truly don't understand since I've never had that problem before (I sometimes really hate Netscape), I'm afraid you'll also have to send me your email address again. But I promise I'll send it to you. I do. Really g  
**Lynn-G** - LOL, you don't have to get down on your knees. I always update, it just takes a little bit longer than planned sometimes. But I usually update within a few days of the intended time. g Great to hear that you're liking this so far though, thanks a lot for all your review!  
**Grumpy** - Yup, Glorfindel is indeed a rather poor elf. It's definitely not easy for him. huggles elf lord I do rather doubt that Legolas learned anything from this little escapade - he is incapable of learning, at least that's what I sometimes think. It's the only way to explain all this. evil grin  
**Noldo** - Hmm, how do they manage to get into these situations ... I think it's a gift. Or a curse, take your pick. g Glorfindel is also my favourite elf if I'm completely honest, even though I also have a soft spot for Fëanor, please don't ask me why. And somehow I also like Ingwe. shrugs I know, I'm weird. Glad you're agree though, concerning Turgon's hair colour. I also think that he was actually dark haired, but with these part-Vanyar you can never be too careful. g Ah, so you're Uineniel? Noldo is a lot better, I think. I'm quite surprised that wasn't taken yet, though. Strange.  
**LegolasGreenleafGil-Estel** - I'm very sorry for not posting Friday. There was really no way I could; on Friday I was still trying to convince my computer to accept AOL. Unfortunately my computer has actually good taste and didn't. g Most of the time I stay in Essex when I'm here, but sometimes I'm also down in Kent and directly in London. I like it no matter where. It's nice to hear that you liked that one sentence though. I thought it to be quite funny, too. g   
**Crippled Raven** - To be honest: I hate Bovril. I also hate Marmite and steak-and-kidney-pie, and mint jelly. Mint sauce, however, is extremely yummy. g Wearing full body armour might be a good idea, I think. Especially for the two of them; I think they have broken every rib at least twice. Aragorn is indeed Elladan's, Elrohir's and Arwen's cousin, about 40 generations removed. I think it were 38, but I'm not sure. And forget the films, at least if you want to learn anything about the relationship between Aragorn and Elrond. Elrond never behaved like that, and never threatened to take Arwen with him into the West. It's all rubbish. And I don't even know who that guy is. I did know it once, but I forgot it almost immediately. He's just not worth remembering. g LOL, I love the job description. It's highly accurate! Hmm, my chapter titles are never very obvious to be honest; it should become clearer this chapter though. Essentially it's describing Glorfindel's memories and Aragorn's and Legolas' friendship. Very essentially. g  
**Emiri-chan** - gulps nervously I'm very sorry you have to wait, I really am. But so does everybody else, isn't that at least a small consolation? ducks heavy object Apparently not... g I hope I didn't really kill you though. Apart from the fact that I really don't need another spirit haunting me, it's also stupid to lose reviewers that way. g At the moment, I really can't read anyone's stories, I'm sorry. I'm using my friends' internet connection, and I really don't want to stay online any longer than I absolutely have to. But I think I read the first part of your story, sometime back in college. Was it something about the twins and Helm's Deep? I really can't remember more, sorry.g  
**Sadie Elfgirl** - LOL, yes, I imagine Glorfindel would add that to his list. If he's really having such a list, I think it's a couple of feet long by now... g So you liked the shirtless scene? Really, you DO need to sort out your priorities! Aragorn is nearly dying and what do you think about? g And I think both Legolas and Aragorn have that particular talent. I honestly don't know which one is worse. g   
**Tychen** - Let me congratulate you on your fist signed review! huggles It looks very nice indeed! g I am sorry to say that I hate Marmite even more than Bovril though. It's both disgusting. shudders I really hope the summer has returned; this weekend has been quite nice, hasn't it? I'm really hoping that it's going to stay like this for a little longer... LOL, no they're actually not in such a bad way, are they? Well, this is only a short story after all... g Thank you very much for all your long, wonderful reviews!   
**Templa Otmena** - Yes, the method needed a little work, indeed. Stubborn, reckless wood-elf. shakes head evil grin If you liked that scene with Elrond and Erestor, I'm quite sure that you'll like the next scene in this chapter. It's quite sad, that's at least what I think. I had to wipe away a few tears while I was writing it myself... LOL, yes, "the ol' reverse-psychology ploy" nearly always works, doesn't it? They're all not too bright... g And no, I don't like Medieval history. I hate it, I really, really do. And the worst thing is that I have to learn all that boring, horrible stuff for my exam! grrrrr It's not fair. It is very nice to hear that you've enjoyed this story as well as the last ones, thank you very much for all your very long and nice reviews! huggles  
**Nietta** - blinks Uhm, you're really quite evil, did you know that? Laughing at Glorfindel's misfortune... Tsk, tst, tsk. Evil Nietta. I nearly forgot (mostly because I forgot to import my inbox before leaving): You may of course quote that sentence. There was a mistake in there somewhere, though, so I would be grateful if you'd just correct that. Thanks a lot. And you're quite right, of course: Cendan and Aragorn could indeed meet when Aragorn is serving Thengel and Ecthelion as Thorongil. I have had one annoying little plot bunny bouncing around in my head quite a long time now... g Right now I'm in Essex, and it truly appears as if I brought at least a bit of good weather with me! Let's hope that lasts, too! g  
**Firniswin** - shakes head You know I would never truly kill Aragorn! Well, at least I think I wouldn't. At least not without giving the matter considerable thought. evil grin Don't worry about reviewing. (Even though that's very nice of course) I totally understand that RL can get very annoying from time to time... I'm very glad that you're enjoying this so far, thanks a lot for the review!  
**Kitsune Kida** - Yes, I really think sometimes Aragorn hates being human. It's understandable, of course, after growing up with the oh-so-perfect elves. Every human would feel like that, I think. blinks I hope you and your precious will enjoy this bit too. eyes you carefully I really hope so.  
**Lirenel** - Thank you! That's actually quite a nice compliment! I always try to put a bit of background and history into my stories, I think that makes it more "real" and interesting. It's nice to hear that you're enjoying it! I didn't really manage to update "soon", but I hope it was soon enough! Thanks for the review!  
**Zinnith** - I don't think he wants to fall asleep, he only wants to rest for a while. Yes, I know, it always starts like that, doesn't it? g I absolutely agree though, they should indeed be locked in closets, for their own good. g I don't believe there was anyone who fought a balrog and actually lived. Glorfindel died, Ecthelion died, Gandalf died (more or less, at least), Fëanor died, Fingon died. Yup, I think they all died! As I said before, your theories are very close to the truth. Well done! Idril and Tuor sailed to Valinor when the latter felt old age approaching, and it is said that, even despite the Doom of the Noldor, they managed to make it there and that Tuor was the only mortal man who was ever accepted there. Lucky them. g I like the Holy Grail too, it's great! I like the guardian of the bridge of doom or whatever it's called. And Tim, the wizard. g And Sir Lancelot, and Sir Robin, and... g grabs cookie Thanks a lot! I love cookies! g  
**Alasse Tiwele** - g Glad I managed to make you happy. We aim to please, after all. g I am also having trouble believing that the story is already over. It's only five chapters, for crying out loud! I haven't even started yet! shaked head Very weird, really.   
**Elvendancer** - I really hope he doesn't. I am not really slow, but I bet an angry elf lord is a lot faster than I am. g And I wouldn't really chose the term "interesting". "Terryfying" would be more appropriate... g  
**Radbooks** - snickers Legolas, the fireman, huh? Well, that IS an interesting idea... You don't need to worry about "your Glorfindel", you know that I would never kill a canon character! At least not without a very good reason... evil grin As I said, the next story should be out in about a month or so, so you don't have to wait too long! That's something, right? bright smile  
**Marbienl** - LOL, no, I'm still not anywhere near Manchester. Sorry. But they do have a few places in London where you can get nice curry (even though it is, like everything in London, quite expensive), so don't worry about me. g And yes, the trolls are quite stupid. They're really not known for their intelligence - except the olog-hai, that is, and they most certainly are not olog-hai. g And your guess wasn't too bad; Elrond does indeed remind Glorfindel of Turgon, among others. This IS a short story, though! Only 90 pages, that's nothing! At least compared to my other stories... g And no, I HATE the Teutonic Knights. Everything, including the 80-years war, is better than that... Celeborn was staying with the twins in Imladris, but HE most certainly did follow Galadriel over the Sea, it is only not known when. So at least the two of them were reunited, that's something. g So we'll be quite far away from each other, huh? Excellent ... uh, how sad... g   
**Chip** - Hobbits? In England? And they make pudding? blinks Oookaaayyy, if you say so... g Thanks a lot, I did indeed manage to get here safely (even though I hate it when the plane takes off), thanks a lot for all your reviews!  
**Fliewatuet** - Yes, it is, isn't it? It's either a gift or a curse, I'm not really sure myself... g It is very nice to see that you're reading this insane little story! I had already feared that I scared you off or something like that... g I hope you'll enjoy this last chapter too, thanks a lot for your review! huggles  
**Maranwe1** - There is really nothing anyone can do about it. I am using a thesaurus, actually, but you're right, they're not that helpful. It also depends on how well I can think in English on a particular day. There are days it's really easy, and there are days where I have to really concentrate to write anything. shrugs It's qutie weird. Hmm, let me see, gammon... "1. Meat cut from the thigh of a hog (usually smoked); 2. Hind portion of a side of bacon". At least that's what my little computer-thesaurus says. g I hope you'll enjoy your first college days, then! I think I spent the entire first term in a petrified haze... g  
**CrazyLOTRfan** - LOL. I like the T-shirts. Can I have one? Do you have blue ones? I'll take everything but pink and purple... g Oh, so you meant the next cliffy? That's okay, I guess, since there will be plenty in my next story, or at least I think so. I love them too much to stop writing them now... g Saw? What was I supposed to see? That you've stolen one of my characters and are hitting him with a shovel? Nope, I definitely didn't see that... g  
**Cosmic Castaway** - I did NOT call you an idiot driver. I am not really sure what I said, but I am sure that I never said something like that! mock outrage Really! Speedy is a very good term, and one many people have used to desribe me as well! It's very nice to hear that you enjoyed your time in NYC - and that you liked that sentence, of course! Thanks a lot for all your reviews!  
**Yuuki Ryuu** - Don't wory about that, can be quite confusing. Plus they hate me and eat my chapters all the time, so I'm really not surprised. g I'm not really sure whether or not I'm going to put Celylith into the next story to be honest. He won't be there for the first few chapters, that's something I can tell you, but I don't know yet where he will be in there later. Sorry. g But I will think about it long and hard, I promise. g  
**Vampy2k** - Of course he isn't dead! I would never kill him just like that! huggles Glorfindel I like him far too much! You're right about Elrond having to patch up Estel, of course - how did you know? You have to be psychic! g  
**Aratfeniel** - I don't really think Aragorn is ashamed of his ancestors, at least not of all of them. I think he just has trouble to remember the rest of them, not only Isildur, Tar-Calion and what their names might have been. They all sound so similar! grrr Sorry for not posting the chapter sooner. My computer is still giving me trouble - it really doesn't like AOL... g  
**Jazmin3 Firewing** - That sounds like a lot of fun! I am not a very great fan of sailing anywhere, but that really sounds interesting... Are you insinuating that Legolas' plan wasn't very well thought out? Well ... I think you're right! Legolas might not agree, of course.... g

**Thank you all very much for your reviews! They helped me a lot, and encouraged and amused me very much! Thanks! huggles all reviewers **


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